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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA..., 









MEMOIRS, 



AND 

SELECT REMAINS, 



OF 



CHARLES POND j 



LATE MEMBER OF THE SOPHOMORE CLASS IN YALE 
COLLEGE 



COMPILED BY A CLASSMATE 



: 



Oh long shall we mourn, and his memory's light, 
While it shines through our hearts, will improve them J 

For worth shall look fairer, and truth more bright. 
When we think how he lived but to love them. — Moore, 

Quando ullum inveniet parem ? — Hor. Car. 



S>ttonti SSirCtton. 



REVISED BY THE PUBLISHING COMMITTEE, 



Uostott : 

MASSACHUSETTS SABBATH SCHOOL UNION 
1831*. 



^ 6 | 



Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1831, by 
Christopher C. Dean, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court 
of Massachusetts. 



ffr 



PREFACE. 



Soon after the death of the beloved and highly gifted subject 
of the following Memoirs, it was suggested to his friends by sev- 
eral who had been well acquainted with lus character, that a 
sketch of his life, including extracts from his correspondence and 
miscellaneous writings, might subserve a valuable purpose. It is 
with this hope that this little volume has been compiled, and it 
k now submitted to the public. It is what it professes to be, a 
selection merely; much has been left, both of his correspondence 
and other matter, equally interesting, perhaps, as diat which has 
been extracted. It has been the aim of the compiler, however, 
to make a selection of such variety as to exhibit all the several 
features of his character. 

That arrangement has been adopted which was thought best 
calculated to illustrate the regular progress of his mind. The 
ietters and papers, are. inserted in the order of time in which 
they were written; and the business of the compiler has been 
only to connect them together, adding just so much as seemed 
necessary to complete the picture. 

The extracts from his correspondence, will, it is believed, be 
perused witli peculiar interest. Though written usually with the 
greatest haste, diey exhibit a correctness of sentiment and accu- 
racy of observation, combined with an elegance and finish of ex- 
pression, indicative alike of mature judgment, and pure and culti- 
vated taste. It will be observed that in his advice to his sisters, 
he has iwinted out all that is most essential in the formation of a 
character of real excellence—advice which is believed to be wor- 
thy the attention of all, of similar age and circumstances with 
those to whom they were addressed, 



iv PREFACE. 

In many respects it is believed, the character of Pond may oe 
proposed to students as a model. His kind and benevolent 
feelings, his unremitted and well directed industry, and above all, 
bis correct and unyielding moral principle, are such as should 
characterize every one who is preparing himself for the higher 
spheres of usefulness among his fellow men. — And if the survey 
of his excellence, both intellectual and moral, shall be the means 
of inspiring any with new ardor in climbing 

"the rugged path — the steep ascent, 
That virtue points to," 

the path that leads to usefulness and honor, his friends will not 
have occasion to regret, that this brief sketch of his character 
has been given to the public. 

R. PALMER, 
Yale College, July 12, 1829, 



CONTENTS, 



CHAPTER I. 

Charles' Birth — Early dispositions and habits* — Course pursued in 
relation to his studies — Religious impressions and their re- 
sult — Fondness for writing— Specimens of liis first poetical ef- 
forts— Remarks. p. 7—16 

CHAPTER II. 

Commences fitting for College — His character at this period- 
Diligence in study — Rules of conduct— Favorite Authors — Fur- 
ther specimens of his attempts at poetry — Renounces the 
"courtship of the Nine" — Reasons for doing so. p. 16 — 25 

CHAPTER III, 

Enters College — His feelings on. the occasion — Personal appear- 
ance — Standing as a scholar — Remarks relative to his corres- 
pondence — Correspondence— -Interesting state of College — 
Becomes interested in the subject of Religion — Letter giving 
an account of the change in his views — Remarks — Farther ex- 
tracts from his correspondence— Remarks. - p. 25—73 
1* 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER IV. 

Religious character— Letters— Decline of his health — Diary- 
Remarks on his diary — Diligence and success in his studies — 
Letters— Themes — Finds it necessary to relinquish his studies 
on account of his health — Leaves college— Letters illustrative 
of his feelings on the occasion. - - - p. 73—126 

chapter v. 

Occupation at home — Resolves on a voyage to the south — Goes 
to New York, is disappointed, and returns home — Visits New 
Haven— Bleeds at the lungs — Circumstances of his sickness 
and death— Letter from his Tutor to his parents — Concluding 
T&marks. p. 126—140 



MEMOIRS. 



CHAPTER I. 

Cfiarles's Birth — Early (impositions and habits— Course pursi- .; 
in relation to his studies — Religious impressions and their re- 
sult — Fondness for writing — Specimens of his first poetical ef- 
forts- — Rem arks . 

Charles Pond, was born at Milford, Conn, 
Oct. 13th, 1809. His parents, Charles H. and 
Catharine Pond, both of respectable families, 
were also natives of Milford, and the subject of 
these memoirs was their eldest child, and only 
son. 

When a child, Charles possessed in a high 
degree, those qualities which in children appear 
interesting and lovely. Placed at school 
when very young, the sweetness of his disposi- 
tion, and the unusual propriety of his conduct, 
won him the affection and confidence of his in- 
structors; and among his companions he was 
ever a universal favorite. 

He early gave indications of an active and 
observing mind; manifesting; an ardent desire 



8 MEMOIRS OF 

to learn, and eagerly availing himself of every 
means of improvement. As an occupation for 
his leisure hours, he preferred reading, to the 
ruder sports which usually engage the attention 
of children; because he thus obtained, at the 
same time both entertainment and instruction. 
He was not, however, wanting in vivacity; but 
on the contrary, was remarkable for his sprightli- 
nessand humour; often amusing those around 
him by the playfulness of his remarks. 

From a child there was a singular purity a- 
bout his character — a tenderness and delicacy 
of feeling, which led him always scrupulously 
to avoid whatever might be the occasion of pain 
toothers. His obedience to the wishes of his 
parents, was always the most cheerful and un- 
hesitating, whatever might be the dictates of 
his own inclination ; nor were they ever in a sin- 
gle instance under the necessity of correcting 
him for any impropriety of conduct. 

From the time when he was nine years of age, 
his father, in consequence of the location of his 
business, was constantly absent from the family 
through the week; yet he never manifested any 
disposition to avail himself of the absence of pa- 
ternal watchfulness for the pursuit of self-grat- 
ification, This freedom from restraint, seemed 



CHARLES POND. 9 

rather to furnish an occasion for the display of 
his affectionate and obedient disposition. In- 
stead of occasioning his mother unnecessary trou- 
ble, he seemed always desirous of diminishing 
her cares and contributing to her happiness by 
acts of kindness and attention. While towards 
his sisters who were younger than himself, his 
conduct was always the most tender and obli- 
ging; and nothing seemed to afford him great- 
er satisfaction, than to be able to engage them in 
employments, from which they might be expec- 
ted to derive rational amusement, or permanent 
advantage. 

When his father returned home on Saturday 
evening, it was his regular custom to examine 
Charles in relation to the books he had been 
reading, and the studies to which he had atten- 
ded when at school. These frequent examin- 
ations, while they enabled his parents to mark 
the progress which he made in knowledge, af- 
forded also an opportunity of observing the pe- 
culiar characteristics of his mind. The analy- 
ses which he gave on these occasions, of the 
subjects, both of his reading and his study, evin- 
ced discrimination and reflection rarely exhibit- 
ed at his early age. He seemed to digest and 
classify the knowledge he acquired; and pos- 



10 MEMOIRS OF 

sessing as he did, a memory remarkably reten- 
tive, what he had thus learned was treasured up 
in his recollection, so that he could recall it 
whenever he had occasion. And there is rea- 
son to believe that the precocity of intellect for 
which he was afterwards so remarkable, was in 
a great measure the result of a practice, which 
thus early called into exercise all the powers of 
his mind. 

Charles was favored with the prayers and in- 
structions of a pious mother; and was habitual- 
ly attentive to whatever was said to him on the 
subject of religion. It is not known, however, 
that his feelings were ever particularly excited, 
until he was about thirteen years of age; when 
he became the subject of deep religious impres- 
sions. Many of the youth in his native town, 
were at the same time similarly affected; and he 
used frequently to meet with several of his 
young acquaintances, for prayer and the read- 
ing of the scriptures. His apprehension of the 
truths of the bible, seemed uncommonly dis- 
tinct, and his convictions of their immense im- 
portance, deep and pungent. He did not at this 
period, however, entertain any hope that he had 
become a new creature in < Christ. Yet it was 
evident that the views of truth which he then 



CHARLES POND. 11 

obtained, and the impression which they made 
upon his heart, exerted a lasting influence on 
his character. He ever afterwards manifested 
a tenderness of feeling on the subject of relig- 
ion, which clearly evinced that although the 
strong excitement produced by the first discov- 
ery of his character and prospects as a sinner, 
might have in some degree subsided, yet there 
was left, the permanent conviction, that nothing 
else could confer a happiness worthy of an im- 
mortal being. 

Charles early discovered a fondness for wri- 
ting; and was accustomed when quite a child, 
to amuse himself and sisters, by composing little 
scraps of poetry. It is to be regretted that at 
a later period, he committed to the flames al- 
most all these juvenile productions. A few, 
however, are preserved, and will be inserted ac- 
cording to the time when they were written. — 
It is necessary, however, to premise that it is 
not presumed that the effusions of a boy, who, 
at sixteen, to use his own language, "renounced 
the courtship of the Nine," and who had pre- 
viously wooed them only as a pastime, should 
interest from their intrinsic excellence. They 
are chiefly interesting as they serve to illustrate 
the character and progress of his mind. Of 



12 MEMOIRS OF 

these which are inserted, the first appears to 
have been written when Charles was twelve 
years old. 

BEAUTY AND PLEASURE. 

Beauty is like the summer flower, 
That blooms enchanting for an hour ; 
Then like the sun's departing ray, 
It quickly dies and fades away. 

But there's a beauty never dies, 
That's scann'd with joy by heav'nhy eyes; 
'Tis that Religion's pow'rs impart, 
The heav'nly beauty of the heart. 

Pleasure's a phantom false, yet fair, 
Which leads into a deadly snare ; 
Pleasure is but an outward show, 
That oft conceals internal woe. 

But they who walk in virtue's train, 
Who banish grief and soften pain, 
Who clothe the poor, the hungry feed, 
Ah! they feel pleasure true indeed. 

The next was written soon after he was four- 
teen. 

TO WINTER. 

And art thou come old hoary head, 
With all thy snow, and ice, and frost! 
I had begun to think thee dead ; 
Or that thy sceptre thou hadst lost. 



CHARLES POND. 13 

Come, sit thee down ; I joy to see 
That thou retain 'st thy empire yet ; 
For thou possessest charms for me, 
And I am glad we're so soon met. 

I love to see thy clear blue sky-— • 
I love to feel thy bracing air — 
I love on thy smooth ice to fly — ■ 
To see, to feel thee every where. 

And when the fire burns clear and strong, 
And I have shut the casement fast, 
I love to hear thy varied song 
Borne swiftly by upon the blast. 

The following piece, with the remarks by 
which it is prefaced, was also written while 
Charles was in his fifteenth year. 

"Among the many and various scenes which 
our country has exhibited to the admiration of 
mankind, the journey of La Fayette through 
the States, was perhaps the most pleasing to the 
philanthropist, and the most interesting and sin- 
gular to the world. When a king, attended by 
the splendid pageantry of nobility, marches 
through his kingdom, his subjects it is true, 
greet his passage with joy and acclamation. — • 
But how often is this joy occasioned by the 
pomp and magnificence of majesty, while the 
king himself is secretly detested. Not so with 
the journey of our Fathers' Friend. Here, the 



14 MEMOIRS OF 

homage paid, was prompted by the best feelings 
of the heart. 'Twas gratitude inspired it ; and 
'twas felt by those who rendered it 3 and by him 
who was its object. 

"The following lines were written on hearing 
of his arrival." 

LA FAYETTE. 

The Hero's come; the Patriot's here, 
In this fair land he lov'd so dear; 
Then hasten all to pay die debt 
Of gratitude to La Fayette. 

Thou Friend of Freedom, child of heav'n! 
To thee a nation's praise is given; 
And thou shalt hear whene'er thou'rt met, 
Our grateful welcome La Fayette! 

And shouldst thou e'en protract thy stay. 
Till length of years have rolPd away ; 
IIow should we all still then regret 
Thy too brief visit, La Faj'ette! 

But oh, go not — come, pass thy life 
Here, far from war and murd'rous strife; 
And till thy sun of life be set, 
We'll treat thee kindly, La Fayette! 

And when we lay thy honour 'd head 
Among our country's mighty dead ; 
A nation's tears thy grave shall wet . 
Thou child of glory, La Fayette! 



CHARLES POND. 15 

The history of childhood — especially of a 
childliood spent at home, can of necessity be mar- 
ked with little variety. Charles continued to at- 
tend a common school without interruption, ex-* 
cept occasionally from his health, which was al- 
ways delicate, until his fifteenth year. His hab- 
its of reading, combined with observation and 
reflection, had by this time, greatly enlarged 
and matured his mind. He had thus also, as 
he usually read authors of a standard charac- 
ter, acquired what is justly regarded as the best 
foundation for a finished education, a thorough 
knowledge of his native language. 



16 MEMOIRS OF 



CHAPTER II. 

Commences fitting for College — His character at this period—- 
Diligence in study— Rules of conduct — Favorite Authors— Fur- 
ther specimens of his attempts at poetry — Renounces the 
"courtship of the Nine" — Reasons for doing so. 

Charles, having now reached the age when 
it was proper for him to enter upon classical stud- 
ies, it became a question with his parents wheth- 
er or not he should be sent from home. So un- 
willing, however, were they to be deprived of 
the pleasure of his company, that notwithstan- 
ding the disadvantages attendant on such a 
course, it was at length concluded that he 
should remain with them; and accordingly he 
commenced fitting for college, reciting to the 
Rev. Mr. Pinneo, the clergymen of his native 
town. The following extract of a letter from 
that gentlemen, accurately delineates the prom- 
inent features of his character at this period. 

Milford, March 5th, 1829. 
"dear sir, 

"The lamented youth, a memoir of whom I 
understand you are preparing for the public eye, 
belonged to my pastoral charge, and for several 



CHARLES POND. it 

years before he entered upon a collegiate 
course of study, was under my particular instruc- 
tion. This was previous to his sixteenth year, 
at which time he entered college. At this ear- 
ly period, little can be supposed to have occur- 
red worthy of record; although to the fond 
heart of affection, affording the most endearing 
recollections. It may however be truly said, 
ihat the powers of his mind had developed them- 
selves to an uncommon degree; and gained a 
strength and maturity quite beyond his years. 
It was indeed often observed by his acquain- 
tance, that he had passed early and rapidly from 
the lightness and instability of youth, to the vi- 
gor and maturity, and I may add, dignity of 
manhood. It pleased the God of nature to en- 
dow him with an uncommon share of good sense; 
as well as with those higher, though not more 
useful talents, which lay the foundation for em- 
inent attainments. All his faculties were re- 
markably well balanced, and duly proportioned. 
He possessed to an unusual degree, what is de- 
nominated genius; but this in him did not stand 
alone to perform mere feats of strength, but was 
restrained and directed by sound judgment and 
discretion. In a word, I consider our young 

friend > who cannot now be affected by our ap- 

<2* 



18 MEMOIRS OF 

plause or censure, to have possessed talents em- 
inently fitting him for high acquirements, and 
for great distinction and usefulness in the world, 
had it pleased God to spare his life. Nor were 
his excellencies merely intellectual. His Cre- 
ator had richly endowed him with those amiable 
and affectionate dispositions, which, far more 
than mere abilities or knowledge, secure the 
love and esteem of mankind. That he was 
faultless, it is not intended to affirm; but his ve- 
ry deficiences afforded the opportunity of discov- 
ering a trait of character as rare as it is excel- 
lent. He received reproof, not with sullen si- 
lence, or resentment, or attempts at self-justifi- 
cation; but with deep feelings of self-reproach; 
and the effect was permanent and happy." 
# # # # # ■ # 

Having now commenced a regular course of 
study, he seemed more than ever, to feel the 
importance of diligent and systematic industry. 
This may be seen from the following little frag- 
ment written about this time, which was found 
among his papers, entitled 

Rules of Conduct: 
Sensible that method, and a regular course of 



CHARLES POND. 19 

fife, are indispensable to the correct fulfilment 
of duties, I here compose a set of rules for my 
conduct, which I am determined to observe as 
far as lies in my power. Some might perhaps 
appear unnecessary, or of trifling importance; 
but a close observer of nature, will easily per- 
ceive that all its great machines are moved by 
innumerable small wheels; and that however 
inconsiderable a great part of them may be in 
themselves, yet they are each and every one re- 
quisite to produce harmony and perfection in the 
whole. 

Rise at six in winter, and five in summer. 

Retire at ten. 

Study — from nine A. M. till twelve — from 
two P. M. till three — then recite. Evening, 
from seven till nine or ten as circumstances 
shall determine. Write after recitation. 

Exercise — from six till nine A. M. — from 
twelve till two, and from four till six P. M. 

Sleep nine hours. — Study eight hours. — Ex- 
ercise seven hours. * * * 

In accordance with these rules and others 
which he prescribed to himself, Charles appli- 
ed himself industriously to the prosecution of 
Ms studies, and to other employments calcula™ 



20 MEMOIRS OF 

ted to improve his mind. He used frequently 
to remark, that the sources of a man's happi- 
ness must be within himself; and hence he was 
eager to possess himself of rich stores of useful, 
and interesting knowledge. A considerable 
part of his leisure at this period was devoted to, 
choice reading; the British Classics he perused- 
with great delight. Of the poets, Milton, Youngs 
Cowper, Montgomery, and Shakespeare, were* 
his favorites. He continued also to amuse him- 
self occasionally with attempts at poetical com- 
position. A few more specimens of these ef- 
forts are here inserted, which were written dur- 
ing his fifteenth and sixteenth years. 

ADDRESS IN A LADY'S ALBUM. 

Sent on love's errand by my owner's hand, 
To you her Friends, a supplient I come ; 

Bound, in obedience to her strict command. 
To ask your favors and then hasten home. 

With tokens then, to long acquaintance due, 
Of friendship pure and love without alloy, 

Prompted by virtue, and inscribed by you, 
Adorn these leaves and I return with 



CHARLES POND. 21 

A FRAGMENT. 

Why do ye walk along so slow, 
Men of the warm and bounding soul! 

Have ye ere felt the throb- of woe, 
Or the full tear of sorrow roll! 

I thought, within these quiet walls, 
That ye were free from grief and care, 

That Pleasure's home, was learning's halls, 
And nought but sunshine entered there. 

I could not think that eyes so bright 

With hope and joy — and brow so brave — 

Would so soon lose their living light, 
And fade and moulder in the grave. 

I thought that— * * * * 



FAREWELL TO THE ALBUMS! 

Farwell to thee, thou little book; 

Farewell to all dry numerous train, 
I will not on thy pages look 

To write another word again. 

'Twas thou that first enticed my feet 3 
To venture near the muses' hill ; 

And then I found the draught so sweet, 
I fain would stay to take my fill. 

I ever for thy owner's sake, 

Have shown thee tenderness and care, 
But henceforth this fair warning take. 

And tell thy brethren too, beware! 



22 MEMOIRS OF 

For should ye near my precincts stray, 
O, I should tremble for your fate! 

And ye will surely rue the day, 
And mourn your lot when 'tis too late. 

Then go, thou little wand'rer go ; 

'Twere needless now for me to tell 
The reasons why I treat thee so ; 

They are sufficient — Fare-thee-well. 



A FAREWELL. 

Farewell Eliza — we have met, 

And while life lasts, Oh I can never 

The joy I've known with thee forget ;- 
But now we part — perhaps forever! 

Thus friendship throws her silKen chain 

Round those who seem that nought can sever ; 

But soon the chord is snapt in twain — 
They part— -perhaps like us, forever! 

But there's a world supremely bright, 
Where grief is heard at parting never ; 

Where Friendship dwells in heavenly light, 
And Love endures — pure — warm forever. 

Farewell! then, since on earth we find, 
Time soon will all connections sever j 

Save only that blest tie of mind, 
Which there endures— unchanged, forever! 



CHARLES POND. 23 

ON THE DEATH OF ADAMS AND 
JEFFERSON. 

Say did ye hear that swelling cry 

That rose so loud to heaven 1 
It went from bosoms beating high 

With joy, for blessings given, 

And hark! — the cannon's deaf ning roar, 

Successive thunders pealing; 
From Inland hills no distant shore* 

It wakes the noblest feeling. 

And hark! — that dying sound — again 

What glorious notes it raises! 
It is the choir's enchanting strain ; 

Our Father's God it praises. 

But lo! that swelling cry is gone — 
Deep hush'd that cannon's thunder — 

And e'en tliat choir's enlivening tone 
Is mute in fearful wonder. 

For they — the Patriarchs — loved and blest, 

High crown'd with age and glory, 
Have sought in peace a hollowed rest; 

Their names entombed in Story. 

From what we have seen of Charles' poetical 
talents, it may be supposed that had he thought 
proper to devote his attention to poetry, he 
might have done it with considerable success. 
This however he did not judge expedient; and 
accordingly with his characteristic deliberation., 
Jie writes as follows 



24 MEMOIRS OF 

"From an attempt now made to write a verse 
of poetry, it is pretty evident, that whatever of 
fame may be obtained by me in after life, is not 
to be found on the muses' hill. Some other path 
seems to be marked out forme, which I shall do 
well to follow. So henceforth — J renounce the 
courtship oj the Nine." 

it is not known that after this, he ever wrote 
a line of poetry. He had become persuaded 
that other pursuits were of paramount import- 
ance; and it was a trait in his character worthy 
of remark, that when convinced that a given 
course was on the whole to be preferred, he al- 
ways proceeded immediately to conform his con- 
duct to the dictates of his judgment, instead of 
suffering himself to be swayed by inclination. 
And he was wont to value every pursuit in pro- 
portion as it seemed calculated to qualify for 
usefulness; believing it to be the appropriate bu- 
siness of existence, to contribute to the welfare 
and happiness of mankind. 



CHARLES POND. 25 



CHAPTER III. 

Enters College — His feelings on the occasion — Personal appear- 
ance — Standing as a scholar — Remarks relative to his corres- 
pondence — Correspondence — Interesting state of College — ■ 
Becomes interested in the subject of Religion — Letter giving 
an account of the change in his views — Remarks — Farther ex- 
tracts from his correspondence — Remarks. 

In the autumn of 1826, having completed his 
preparatory studies, Charles became a member 
of Yale College. This period was one to which 
he had for some time looked forward with no 
small degree of anxiety. He was now in his 
seventeenth year; and had hitherto enjoyed 
without interruption the quiet and the indulgen- 
cies of home; but from these he was about to be 
removed. This, however, was not the principal 
ground of his solicitude. He greatly feared 
the influence of the numerous temptations inci- 
dent to college life: and often remarked that it 
appeared to him of the highest consequence that 
a student should possess fixed and unbending 
principles. That his, own w r ere of this descrip- 
tion, none, it is believed, who knew him will be 
disposed to question; for although mildness and, 
3 



26 MEMOIRS OF 

moderation were striking features in his charac- 
ter, his conduct was always marked with energy 
and decision. 

His appearance at the time he entered col- 
lege, was highly prepossesing. His person 
was rather tall, erect, and well formed; his de- 
portment modest and retiring, yet remarkably 
dignified and manly; his manners and address 
easy, unembarrassed, and engaging. Add to 
this, that it was evident to all that he possessed 
talents of the highest order, and feelings the 
most correct and honourable, and it will not ap- 
pear surprising that he soon became, among his 
classmates, in an eminent degree respected and 
beloved. 

The course of systematic industry to which 
he had previously become accustomed, he still 
continued to pursue; and his standing as a 
scholar was such as it was natural to expect from 
his abilities and diligence. At the end of the 
first term, he received one of the three prizes 
awarded to his division, for excellence in Eng- 
lish Composition. 

His affection for his sisters, and efforts for 
their improvement have already been noticed. 
When he had become settled in college, he made 
U his regular custom to write them a letter every 



CHARLES POND. Ti 

week. He wrote also frequently to his mother, 
and occasionally to other friends. 

We shall make pretty ample extracts from his 
correspondence, for two reasons. In the first 
place, it is believed that his letters are of a 
character to be read with interest; and those of 
them addressed to his sisters, in which, with all 
the particularity of the most ardent wishes for 
their welfare, he advises them in relation to the 
cultivation of their minds and manners, may 
perhaps be read with benefit by those of similar 
age and circumstances. They certainly evince 
accuracy of observation, correctness of senti- 
ment, and maturity of judgment. — And further, 
there is probably no way in which character can 
be studied to greater advantage, than as it is 
exhibited in these confidential effusions, which 
are at once the unlabored efforts of the intellect, 
and the sincere — unaffected language of the 
heart. More particularly may this be supposed 
to be true in a case like the present, where the 
monotony of college life necessarily furnishes 
but little of characteristic incident. 



28 MEMOIRS OF 

New-Haveir, Wednesday, Oct. 1826. 
DEAR SISTER, 

Instead of sitting down by my table at home, 

as I now begin to call Yale, to answer your 
letter, I have taken my seat in Papa's office. 

We have just been into the Chapel to hear the 
weekly speaking, and the criticisms of the Pro- 
fessor; and next week, we also shall be called 
on in our turn. I am thus far pleased with col- 
lege life, and every day affords something to 
strengthen my attachment. Although some 
mornings, when the air seems to have an extra 
chill, the college bell appears to sound with ap- 
palling tones, yet by the time its never ceasing 
peal calls to breakfast, there seems a pleasing 
harmony in' its' toll. Here every thing is timed 
by the bell; studying, eating, sleeping, all go by 
the belL There is time enough for every thing, 
but none to spare. So that when I write home* 
I must work hard and get my lesson quick, and 
then make my pen fly nimbly for a few moment s,- 
and you have a letter. 

The object of correspondence, in connection 
with the pleasure derived from intercourse with 
our friends, should be to instruct and improve 
each other. It does not belong to the student 
alone^ to reflect; although his business is chief- 



CHARLES POND. 29 

\y — nay, exclusively, the cultivation of his mind, 
yet every one is possessed of talents equally 
with him: and as nothing was ever given for 
our misimprovement or abuse, it follows of 
course, that all should feel the importance of 
cultivating the understanding to the utmost of 
their power. Now here you have a mind ca^ 
pable, (or rather which can be made capable by 
application, which is the same thing,) of com- 
prehending the knowledge of all that is good, 
great, and important to be understood; and 
unless you employ its powers rightly, you are 
not only depriving yourself of that respect, and 
(which is far preferable) of that never-failing 
source of enjoyment which is possessed by the 
virtuous and the learned, but you are also laying 
yourself under the weighty responsibility of neg- 
lecting to improve the talents which you have 
received. I was glad to find, therefore, that 
my proposition met with your approbation, For 
if we can, by mutually attending to the main- 
tainance of a constant intercourse, forward this 
object, viz. the cultivation of our minds, the 
time which we shall devote to it must certainly 
be considered as profitably employed. 

As you all like to know how I get along, I 

can assure you that I am able to get my lessons, 

3* 



30 MEMOIRS OF 

and perform other necessary duties, pretty easily 
and agreeably, although the fashionable monster, 
Dyspepsia, would fain assert his right to propa- 
gate a few notions in the region of my brain: 
butlarnin joyful hopes that next week, when 
it is expected our regular exercises in -the Gym- 
nasium will comn jnce, I shall be enabled to ? 
give his Monstership a polite dismissal from the 
premises. 

Upon reading over what I wrote somewhat 
hastily last evening, I find some parts which I 
think might be improved* Now this is my plan: 
I wish you every week to examine my letters 
attentively, and to point out tome, in yours, 
with a critic's finger every fault. Let every 
particular be noticed; and I promise you it will 
be advantageous to us alL Our Professor told 
us the other day, that among the various kinds 
of composition to which we shall attend this 
year, will be that of letter-writing; and as soon? 
as we receive our instructions on that subject, 
I will transmit them to you; and then, says I, 
we will have our letters written in fine style 
But as it may be necessary for me in the mean 
time, occasionally to tell you a plain story, I 
shall beg leave to do it without his Professor- 
ship's assistance. 



CHARLES POND. 

I am pleased to hear your school is to com- 
mence so soon. You are now old enough to 
attend it with a definite object in view. Con- 
sider it not as a mere thing of course to go to 
school — to spend a few hours in the school-room, 
as it were a duty, of regular occurrence, and 
therefore to be performed indifferently, or to- 
tally neglected; but remember it is a privilege 
which but few, comparatively very few, are per- 
mitted to enjoy,- and the neglect of- which were, 
in you, not only ingratitude, but sin. 

I wish to have you inform me of the studies 
you are to pursue, and the progress you make; 
which I trust will be creditable to yourselves, 
and encouraging to all your friends, The books 
I sent, I hope you were pleased with: I shall 
endeavor to send an interesting one to-morrow, 
— Give my love to all. 

Your Brother, 

Charles. 



Yale College, Friday, Nov. 1826. 



DEAR SISTERS, 



We begin now to study in good earnest; as 
the time for study, namely, cold, short days, and 



m MEMOIRS OF 

long nights has arrived, and we make the most 
of it, I can assure you. I suppose you too begin 
to see that the proper season for improvement, 
both of the year, and of life, has come; and I 
hope you will see its advantages, and rightly ap- 
preciate and use them. You may be assured, 
that as the right performance of duty, renders 
the inclemencies of Autumn incapable of sour- 
ing the temper, or of marring your enjoyment, 
so the reflection that time has been spent well, 
and no duty left neglected, will make the autumn 
of your life rich in pleasures, and every moment 
of existence sweet. 

You probably attend school steadily — per- 
forming all your tasks, and cheerfully obeying all 
the commands of your instructor. Now un- 
less you cheerfully obey, obedience, (if indeed 
it can be called obedience,) is one of the most 
irksome duties imaginable. And so you will 
find, on the contrary, cheerful obedience the 
source of much happiness. It affords satisfac- 
tion both at the time of performance, and (which 
is far better) long afterwards, 

Our regular Gymnastic exercises have begun. 
The commencing exercises are very simple and 
easy; but I declare I thought the other day, 
if Mamma had seen with me, as I was looking 



CHARLES POND. 33 

from my window, a tall student mounted on the 
top of a mast, at least seventy feet high, and 
there balancing himself on his breast, with his 
feet extended on one side, and his head on the 
other, she would have been somewhat loth to 
permit me to eommence performing feats, how- 
ever simple and beneficial, which might termi- 
nate in ones so hazardous as this. However, 
as I am generally more content with terra firma 
than middle air, I think there is but little proba- 
bility of my having my head so high in the 
world at present. 

Now it is about half past four; and I have 
just come from the recitation room, where I was 
called on to recite. I could not help thinking, 
as I took my seat to-day, calm and collected as 
if I had been reciting at home before the family, 
how different it was last week at this time. 
Then we were strangers to each other, and our 
tutor, and every one's voice, by its slight trem- 
bling, gave evidence of embarrassment. Now 
every one thinks, as he rises, he is surrounded 
by his friends— his class-mates — his brothers, 
I believe this is the grand reason why we hear 
so little of home-sickness in college; we have 
left our home, but we have found another. 

It is amusing too, as well as instructive, to 



34 MEMOIRS OF 

observe the different persons of which our nu 
merous family is composed; and to contemplate 
the diversity of character and sentiments it ex- 
hibits. Every day discloses some new trait, and 
every hour affords fresh proof of the individuali- 
ty of our species, and of the strength and beau- 
tjr of those harmonious ties, which can bind 
together in peace and love so promiscuous a 
multitude. 

#.A/, Ji. A/, .AA, 

■vr "7v */?■ nr 

The bell rings, and I must lay down my pen 
and take my book. 

Your Brother^ 

Charles. 



Yale College, Friday, Nov. 1826. 
MY SISTERS, 

I have been and borrowed a pen from one of 
my class-mates to use for the few moments of 
leisure we have until prayers, in answering your 
letter. 

In the first place, (as men generally think of 
themselves first,) I have had a severe cold, for 
some days past; but last evening a classmate 
came up to my room, and told me I must take 



CHARLES POND. 35 

some of the sovereign remedy, viz. boneset tea: 
and accordingly I was dosed off well last night, 
and to-day feel much better again. In the next 
place, (to keep self uppermost still,) one short 
week brings Thanksgiving; and I hope will al- 
so bring your brother home; when, if my cold, 
or some other unfavorable accident does not al- 
ter the case, and 1 am in full possession of the 
delightful appetite I have enjoyed this term, 
mother need not fear, lest I should do injustice 
to her dainties. As usual, I suppose the "note 
of preparation" has already been, or shortly will 
be sounded; and the chopping of meat, and 
screaming of pigs and poultry, and the pounding 
and grinding of allspice and pepper, and the 
clattering of plates, and the red faces of the 
good folks at the oven, will give bustling and 
brisk intimation of the approach of merry 
Thanksgiving. It is one of the thousand proofs 
that we have of the goodness of our forefathers' 
hearts, and of the correctness of their judg- 
ments, that they instituted so joyous a festival, 
and accompanied its celebration with so many 
manifestations of prosperity and happiness. For 
who can look around at Thanksgiving upon the 
richness of the bounties which greet him on ev- 
ery side?, without feeling his heart warmed with 



36 MEMOIRS OF 

gratitude to the Infinite Benevolence that he- 
stowed them, and becoming better for the feel 

in S- 

When I commenced my letter, I said it was 

to be in answer to yours; but so far from an- 
swering, I have not yet mentioned it. Howev- 
er, better late than never. Upon looking over 

M > s p ar t ? I must say, I am pleased with 

her intentions as to her conduct, both at school, 
and at home. Although from her age, I could 
have expected nothing less than a determina- 
tion to "learn all she could" in the one case, 
and to "be as useful as possible" in the other; 
still I am glad she has so frankly committed it 
to paper, because a resolution in plain black 
and white, looks more like real design than the 
mere formation. of it in the mind: and I cannot 
hesitate to believe, that it is her firm purpose to 
conform to the very letter of the declaration. 
Of one thing she may be — she doubtless is, 
certain, that from such conduct will result pure 
pleasure to herself, and the highest gratification 
to her friends. 

Your brother, 

Charles. 



CHARLES POND. 37 

Yale College, Saturday, Dec. 1826. 
©EAR C 

As I found a joint letter from yourself and 

M , on Monday, right it is that you should 

receive an answer. I was pleased to find your 
part written in so good a style 3 there is yet, 
however, great room for improvement. A lady's 
hand writing should be plain, rather fine, and 
very true and neat. In all your letters, you 
should select the best words you can think of, 
as by so doing, you acquire a knowledge of lan- 
guage: still, avoid those which seem farfetched, 
as they would tend to make your style appear 
stiff and awkward. Be particular in your 
pointing also; otherwise your meaning may be 
obscured, and often appear ridiculous. When- 
ever you intend to write a letter, do not put it 
off till the last moment: for by so doing, you 
#re unable to pay that particular attention to ev- 
ery part, which is necessary in order to derive 
any advantage from the exercise. Letter-writ- 
ing is considered the easiest, and if properly 
conducted, the most beautiful species of compo- 
sition. The subject is generally very simple, but 
admitting of much embellishment. Often you 
have an opportunity to introduce sentimentf 
4 • 



38 MEMOIRS OF 

and observations, which, if aptly applied, give 
great force and beauty to your epistles. 

You doubtless attend school punctually, and 
do your best while there ; but it is the time at 
home I wish to know the most about. How do 
you spend that? Do you get a lesson every 

evening, or not? I hope yourself and M 

will be able to answer these questions satisfacto- 
rily when I come home; otherwise, I shall not 
after that write you any more letters; thinking 
that you care so little about them, it would be a 
waste of time. Can you answer every question 
in Geography and Grammar? There is need, 
then of more study there. But — Geography 
and Grammar— why they are nothing compara- 
tively; and yet, you are not well acquainted 
even with these. I say this not to discourage, 
nor disparagingly; for I presume you under- 
stand these branches of knowledge as well as 
most young girls of your acquaintance and age. 
But what I mean is, that you should feel the 
importance of learning, and act accordingly. 

Mrs. Royal, I dare say, afFordedyou a great 
deal of amusement; judging from what I have 
seen and heard of her book. You had an op- 
portunity, also, to see the appearance a lady 
makes when out of place; a thing which you 



CHARLES POND. 39 

will assuredly confess, should be carefully 
avoided. 

This afternoon, it is in contemplation to unite 
all the classes under their respective Monitors, 
and make a short march to East Rock in Gym- 
nastic style. But the present coolness of the 
air, and threatening appearance of the clouds, 
somewhat damp the ardour manifested in the 
morning. Just like life; bright, sunny, and gay 

in the morning, but frequently overshadowed 
with darkness at noon-day. Let us then obtain 

those means for making our existence perpetual 
sunshine, which are possessed only by the lear- 
ned and the good. 

Your Brother, 

Charles. 



Yale College, Dec. 1826. 
DEAR MOTHEPv, 

I have taken the liberty of encroaching a little 
upon my study hours, to write a word or two to 
you. I did indeed forget, in my last, to send 
you a single line: but did you therefore think I 
had forgotten you, Mother? Every returning 
week brings with it too many indications of your 
continual recollection of your son, to give a 
place for forgetfulness in him. I acknowledge 
apparent neglect, but the never-ceasing routine 



40 MEMOIRS OP 

of business, and the imperious call of duties to 
be performed, make me almost forget myself, 
But never mind ; in all this hurry, a word from 
home will always ensure an answer; and signs 
of remembrance there, call for a return, too 
loudly to he disregarded. 

The pies too — not a word of them! Well it 
was strange: but do not think because I did not 
mention, 1 therefore did not love them. The 
empty plates declare, that if indeed their source 
was not regarded, their contents received a 
goodly share of our attention. 

It is a beautiful night; and the shouts of the 
students, every now and then, show that they are 
out to enjoy it. You, I suppose, are quietly sit- 
ting in your bed-room, rocking to sleep that noi- 
sy baby, and seeing, I hope, with a great deal 
of pleasure, M learning her lesson, or to- 
gether with C , writing that composition 

which is to give me so much pleasure, and 
to lead the way for others, which will tend 
so much to improve their minds, and consequent- 
ly to increase their respectability, usefulness 
and happiness. Tell M- I was much pleas- 
ed with her discovering the faults in my last 
letter, and that I hope she will attentively exam- 
ine this; and find, and report- to me every place 



CHARLES POND. 41 

where the sense might be better expressed, and 
the words better written and spelt And so, 
proceeding from small things to those of more 
importance, learn critically to observe the beau- 
ties, and the defects of the characters of those 
around her, and with the utmost nicety to imi- 
tate the one, and avoid the other. 

And now, as time presses, I must stop my 
pen, feeling a great deal easier, that I have en- 
deavored to account for the appearance of what, 
were it real, would indicate a wonderful change 
in Your Son, 

Charles, 



New-Haven, Dec. 1826. 
DEAR MOTHER, 

I have been so busy the past week, that I 
came into the office now, without having writ- 
ten a word home. Here, however, papa told 
me you would certainly believe me sick, unless 
you had a written declaration to the contrary, 
So to prevent all mistakes, I thought it no more 
than reasonable that I should just sit down to let 
you know that your own son Charles Pond, is 
still a resident in the goodly city of New Haven, 

a member of the college located in the same, 

4* 



42 MEMOIRS OF 

being at present in pretty good estate, consider- 
ing the weather and other unfavorable circum- 
stances, and expecting (nothing preventing,) to 
visit the home of his nativity, on Wednesday 
next: — which is all at present from 

Your affectionate Son, 

Charles 



Yale College, Saturday, Feb. 1827. 
BEAR MOTHER, 

After leaving you on Wednesday, we had a 
pleasant ride of about an hour and a half, and 
arrived safe at Yale again. We were all much 
pleased with our visit, and resolved to make as 
many more as we consistently can, in coming 
time. Truly as Dominie Sampson would have 
said, such visitations are marvellously agreea- 
ble, and refreshing to the mind of youths. But 
nevertheless, wholesome restraints must needs 
be imposed on the desire of such recreations, 
lest peradventure that we should lose sight of 
more important and noble objects, which should 
ever be kept in view, in the alluring pursuit of 
relaxation. However, I trust the few times I 
shall take a peep at home will be no essential 
detriment to my scholarship, but rather by giv- 



CHARLES POND. 43 

ing a little loose to invigorating recreation, my 
mind may be enabled to apply itself more close- 
ly to my studies. # * #..■■■# * 
Your affectionate son, 

Charles. 

Yale College, March, 1827, 
MY SISTERS, 

I received and read with much pleasure, your 
separate parts of the same letter, on Monday; 
and in compliance with justice and my own in- 
clination, I have taken my stand at my desk to 
spend a few moments in inditing an answer. 

You hoped I would pay attention to your let- 
ters. Be assured I do so; and consequently it 
is proper that I make the same request of you. 
Not but that I am persuaded you pay them as 
much attention as tliey, as letters, deserve; but 
as containing advice, which I hope would if re- 
garded, be of advantage to you, I flatter myself 
that they cannot be cherished too nicely, or in- 
spected too often. 

You mentioned in your last, that mamma smi- 
led at my account of my tailoring; but I believe 
could she see my coat at present, she would 
think I made but little use of my skill in the art. 
— However, when I set about it in earnest with 
my needle, thread and scissors, and no thimble^. 



44 MEMOIRS OF 

I make quite a respectable appearance for a 
gentleman tailor! 

We have had for a few days past, exceeding 
cold weather, and as you can well imagine, have 
experienced all the pleasures of rising at six 
o'clock to prayers. You I suppose, rise, if not 
at six, yet certainly by sunrise, as we are then 
just breakfasting, and think the greater part of 
the morning gone. It is, you may rest assured, 
the most healthful practice imaginable, and at- 
tended with the greatest benefits in other res- 
pects. Be very careful not to lie till breakfast 
time; as from experience, I give my testimony 
to its injurious efFects. And believe me, the 
habit once acquired, is most inveterate; and 
therefore, should you perceive the least tenden- 
cy in yourselves towards it, make a bold and 
decisive effort to overcome it, and you will al- 
ways commend yourselves for so doing. 

I was pleased to find you so far complying 
with my wishes, as to devote so much time to 
writing last week; especially when it gave me 
so much pleasure to read your account of your 
manner of spending time. Among what you 
very justly style " useful if not elegant accom- 
plishments," viz: knitting, working lace, study- 
ing Geography, Sec. you mention reading. — 



CHARLES POND. 45 

I hope you read proper books, and try to re- 
member what you read. Because the object 
in relation to all these acquisitions, should be, 
that we may be able to make use of them in the 
concerns of life; therefore to make reading sub- 
servient to this object, you must treasure up in 
your memory every thing you find useful and 
interesting; as thus, you not only strengthen the 
memory, one of the most important mental fac- 
ulties, but you also obtain materials for future 
usefulness. But as it is growing late I must 

close for to-night. 

Your Brother, 

Charles, 

During the greater part of the winter of 
1826-7, the religious aspect of the college had 
been promising. An unusual spirit of prayer, 
and uncommon zeal in the discharge of chris- 
tian duty, were apparent in the church. In ad- 
dition to the ordinary means of grace, a sermon 
was usually delivered in the Theological Cham- 
ber, on Saturday evening, when large numbers 
of the students were present, exhibiting peculiar 
seriousness and . attention. About the first of 
March, it was evident that God had begun to 
pour out his Spirit; several were awakened by 
the power of truth, and were anxious to learn 



46 MEMOIRS OF 

the way to eternal life. Charles was one of 
the first who entertained a hope of having found 
peace with God, through our Lord Jesus Christ. 
All the particulars relative to his feelings at this 
time, are detailed in the following letter to an 
intimate friend. 

Yale College, March, 1827. 
DEAR FRIEND, 

I have commenced my letter early in the week, 
so as to be able if possible, to give you an ex- 
act account of ail the workings of my own mind, 
and the operations of the Spirit, when I was 
called to see my hopeless situation as a trans- 
gressor of the law of God; and was enabled, 
as I humbly hope, to cast myself on the mercy 
of the Saviour for salvation. And oh, that the 
Father of all mercies would grant me a full 
supply of the riches of his grace, and aid me 
to spend a life forfeited to death, in furthering 
the interests of the Redeemer on that earth 
where he suffered and died to ransom its guilty 
inhabitants. 

For some time past there has been a Sermon 
preached in the Theological Chamber, on Sat- 
urday evenings by some one of the Faculty or 
Theological Students; and they are of the most 
practical and pointed kind. It was by one of 



CHARLES POND. 47 

these that my feelings were more particularly 
excited, but they might all have subsided in a 
few days, had I not been invited by a young 
man of the most fervent piety, (to whom I feel 
under the greatest obligations) to attend an in- 
quiry meeting of Doct. T's on the succeeding 
Monday evening. Here I had set before me, 
in the strongest possible light, my situation, and 
the course of conduct necessary to be pursued 
immediately, or I should be daily involving my- 
self in greater danger and difficulties. Several 
times during the evening as he pressed the point 
of an instantaneous resolution to become a 
christian, did I feel strong in the determination 
to renounce the world and return to God. But 
when the pleasures of sin, and the difficulties 
of a holy life occurred to my mind, I felt a great 
inclination to put off the work a little longer ; 
until some of my present difficulties should be 
obviated, and I should have more leisure to de- 
vote to the business. However, when Doct. T. 
requested all who felt disposed, to call at his 
room at any time, and said that he would be 
pleased to converse with any one after the meet- 
ing had dispersed, I left the room with the rest, 
(excepting one Sophomore who remained) but 
on going into the hall something whispered; go 



48 MEMOIRS OF 

back, or you may lose your soul forever. I felt 
my cheek burning at the thought of going be- 
fore a man like Dr. T. to confess my sins; and 
I suppose too the idea of coming out before 
my class-mates and the world, as one who 
meant to renounce the pursuit of worldly pleas- 
ure for the love of God, added a little to the 
glow; so to regain my calmness and consider a 
little before I proceeded farther, I took my seat 
in the window, and never before had I such a 
conflict with my feelings. You cannot imagine 
my situation. The night was dark and stormy, 
and as I sat and heard the wind whistling round 
the steeple of the Chapel, I felt the loneliness 
of my situation, the blood rushed in haste to my 
face, and my feelings became too strong for con- 
trol. How much longer I should have continued 
here, I know not, had not the clock commenced 
striking the hour directly above my head. At 
every stroke of the bell, the still small voice was 
heard, bidding me beware, how I treated the 
strivings of the Spirit, for that hour might be 
the last that I should spend on earth. And 
thanks be to the mercy of God, who gave me at 
that critical moment, a determination to sleep 
no longer in a state of sin, but to rise and make 
use of all the means in my power to return to 



CHARLES POND. 49 

our heavenly Father. Having related my feel- 
ings, and engaged in prayer with Doct. T. and 
having received instructions from him, I left the 
room; and then again the scene recurred to my 
mind accompanied with the most overpowering 
sensations. What have I been doing ? I thought 
to myself; and what shall I do now? — and as I 
gazed around on the cheering lights of the Col- 
lege windows, and heard the voices of their oc- 
cupants raised in mirth and revelry; it appear- 
ed like a dream more than like a sober and all- 
important reality; and I could hardly bring my- 
self to feel, that I was now to go on and give 
up all these pleasures, and become a new crea- 
ture in Christ. How too, should I appear be- 
fore some of my friends ? and how could I pay 
any attention to my lessons, which I must cer- 
tainly get? In this state of distress I walked 
about the yard, muffling my face in my cloak, 
regardless of the tempestuousness of the night, 
and fearing I should meet some one who might 
laugh me out of my feelings. At times I almost 
determined to abandon all concern, and return 
to my accustomed state of mind, and then shud- 
dering at the thought of loosing the day of 
grace and of being forsaken of the Spirit; at 
Jength I resolved to go to a friend's room and 
5 



50 MEMOIRS OF 

stay during the night, and there to make my 
peace with God. Consequently I proceeded 
up stairs to the door, and after having walked 
a few times through the entry to summon reso- 
lution, I entered and sat down. Here again 
was another trial, but after having told my feel- 
ings to my friend, and having conversed and 
prayed together till a late hour, we retired to rest. 
In the morning I could scarcely bear the idea 
of going out among my acquaintance, as I fear- 
ed their influence, and the weakness of my own 
resolutions: but my friend having pursuaded 
me that all necessary duties must be attended 
to, as far as the state of my feelings would war* 
rant, I was enabled to go through my lessons 
and other exercises, and still keep the great 
work constantly before me. For the two fol- 
lowing days my feelings were much the same; I 
was in darkness as to what it was necessary for 
me to do, and as far as I can judge of my own 
feelings, I was trying to make myself better, and 
more prepared to become a christian, not be- 
lieving that I must or could come with all my 
sins upon me, and cast myself at the foot of the 
cross and receive forgiveness of my iniquities from 
the Saviour as an act of free grace on his part. 
But I would fain purchase it myself, so as to 



CHARLES POND. 51 

take some of the praise to myself, of my salva- 
tion. My heart was too proud and stubborn to 
bend low in the dust, and implore mercy on my 
guilty head, as a lost and dying worm, but I 
must do something which would lay God under 
obligations to forgive my sins. At times I 
could contemplate my vileness and catch a faint 
glimpse of the character of the Redeemer, but 
still I was unable to understand the gospel way 
of salvation, and unwilling (although I did not 
think so then) to accept the atonement of 
Christ as the only means through which I 
could ever hope for mercy. And, although I 
felt willing to receive and acknowledge the Lord 
Jesus as my Saviour on condition of his gran- 
ting me assurance of forgiveness and reconcilia- 
tion; yet I could by no means bring myself to 
submit unreservedly to God as my Maker and 
Supreme disposer, and to love him for his own 
character, and not because he would ever show 
mercy to me. In short, I was a proud and re- 
bellious sinner, ready to dethrone the King of 
Heaven, if I had the power, and take into my 
own hands the direction of my fate, and rule the 
universe at will. I soon went to Doct. T. a- 
gain, and told him my difficulties, and received 
directions. I returned to my room and there de~ 



52 MEMOIRS OF 

termined to give myself away to God. After 
much struggling and anguish of spirit, I was at 
length enabled, as I would humbly trust, to 
make an entire and unreserved dedication of all 
my faculties, of soul and body, to the service of 
the Saviour, and at the foot of the cross to re- 
ceive pardon from my God. — Since that hour, 
oh, how changed have been my views of life, 
and death, and eternity; — of the character of 
God and the Saviour; — of his service and the 
interests of his cause on earth; — of my own re- 
sponsibilities, duties, and desires; — -of the con- 
dition of sinners and the professed disciples of 
Christ; — and although I am still far from God, 
yet I can say with a heart respondinng to the 
words; that I have enjoyed moments which I 
would not exchange for all the vain objects of 
this lower world, and all the happiness the 
worldling ever felt. 

Yours very affectionately, 
Charles. 

Such was the process of feeling by which he 
came to indulge the christian hope; a process 
which it is believed, must commend itself to ev- 
ery one, as strikingly simple, rational, and in- 
telligible. From this time he exhibited the ac- 



CHARLES POND. 53 

five devotedness of a decided christian. The 
affectionate earnestness with which he conver- 
sed with those of his classmates over whom he 
supposed he might exert an influence, in rela- 
tion to what he now regarded as their highest 
interests, it is to be hoped, will not be soon for- 
gotten. His efforts to do good, were charac- 
terized by a modesty and delicacy which always 
secured them a kind reception, although they 
might fail of producing the desired result. 

We have already seen from his correspond- 
ence with his sisters, with what particularity he 
pointed out to them those habits and accomplish- 
ments, the acquisition of which, he thought ne- 
cessary to their usefulness and happiness in the 
world. He now regarded religion, as of every 
other the crowning excellence. He felt, that 
for the intercourse of life, it gave a loveliness 
to character, which no merely external graces 
could impart; and that to the highest personal 
enjoyment here, and as a qualification for an 
immortal life hereafter, it was absolutely indis- 
pensable. Accordingly he began immediately, 
with earnestness to recommend the subject to 

their attention. 

This will be seen from some of the following 
letters. 

5* 



54 MEMOIRS OP 

Yale College, Tuesday, March, 1827. 
MY SISTERS, 

I have begun thus early in the week, and 
thus near the top of the sheet, because I have 
determined to write considerable. I was as 
usual, much pleased with the letter which I re- 
ceived from C on Monday: her hand 

writing is improving fast, and I think promises 
fair to be soon a very neat and graceful hand, 

M must pay all possible attention to hers 

also; for, as she is the oldest, it is always nat- 
ural to suppose her the most accomplished in 
every thing useful and amiable. 

But while I thus recommend care and atten- 
tion in relation to your external accomplish- 
ments, I would chiefly impress on your minds 
at this time the importance of the utmost regard 
to your eternal interests; as they are the only 
subjects which can claim the supreme atten- 
tion of any created being. And be assured 
that every word I am about to say, will be dic- 
tated by the purest love to you, and the deep- 
est solicitude for your happiness. For, (with 
gratitude to our Maker would I say it,) I have 
been led during the past week by the goodness 
and mercy of God, to a contemplation of my 
hopeless situation as a transgressor of his laws, 



CHARLES POND. 55 

and a dcspiser of his offers of reconciliation 
through the Saviour: and looking at the subject, 
therefore, as one which is worthy of the most 
serious and careful attention, I would recom- 
mend it to your consideration, with all the ear- 
nestness which an ardent zeal to promote your 
present and future welfare, can inspire. And I 
beseech you to consider, and endeavor to profit 
by what little I shall say respecting it. 

Life, my dear sisters,is short and uncertain; 
and however prosperous or honoured the living 
are, all must die. No age escapes the hand of 
death, no acquirements can debar his access, 
no strength oppose his power. The learned 
and the ignorant — the wealthy and the indigent 
— the aged and the young — the haughty and the 
lowly, — all must die. But the word of God in- 
forms us, that "after death cometh the ' judg- 
ment," and that on that day, a division will be 
made of all that have lived, and will hereafter 
live on earth. And can ought which this world 
can offer, enable us to stand that decision, or 
meet the sentence which we know will be pro- 
nounced? Oh no. Nothing but a hope in 
Christ, will fit us for that hour. Then how 
wise, and how important, that an interest in a 
subject so momentous, be early felt, We are 



,56 MEMOIRS OF 

old enough to feel the truth of the declarations 
of Scripture, that all have sinned and come 
short of the glory of God: and we know that 
the Saviour made no distinction when on earth 
In his invitations to sinners; but commanded alt 
to repent and believe on him. And we know 
too, that he ever manifested a peculiar love to 1 
the young; saying, suffer little children to come 
unto me, and jorbid them not : and, those thai 
seek me early shall find me. We are but just 
commencing the journey of life, and we know 
not what may befall us on the way, and how 
long we shall continue in it: but whether we 
shall be permitted to reach old age, or whether 
we be called early away; religion is indispensa- 
bly necessary. If the Lord is pleased to give 
us length of days, with religion, we shall be 
prepared to discharge all the duties of life in a 
proper manner; should our lot be prosperous 
and happy, we shall be willing to do our utmost 
to serve with faithfulness the kind Being who 
smiles upon us, and our hearts will be drawn 
closer to our Maker in the bonds of gratitude 
and love. In every stage of life, Jesus will be 
our friend and guide— in the hour of death, our 
comforter and deliverer; and when our hold on 
life is lost, angels will bear us to the right hand 



CHARLES POND. 57 

of God, where we shall spend an eternity of 
bliss. 

With ardent prayers that such may be our 
happy lot, I subscribe myself 

Your Brother, 

Charles. 

Yale College, Friday, March, 182?. 
DEAR MOTHER, 

As I have written so long a letter already to 

L , I do not know as I shall be able to say 

a great deal in this. The girl's letter on Mon- 
day, was a good one; and has received the ap- 
probation of M — : — , J — — and myself, who 
constitute the imperial criticship, if such a word 
can be found elsewhere, in all matters of home 
relations, whether letters, cakes, or any thing 
else of like importance or pleasure. I think 
their hand writing is much improved; and I 
believe that by constant attention and care, they 
will soon become good writers in both senses of 
the word. I hope they will remember the im* 
portance of improving every moment of time, 
and every particle of talent: for let them re- 
collect, they enjoy peculiar privileges, and con- 
sequently, peculiar responsibility rests upon 
them, They live too, at a peculiar period of 



53 MEMOIRS' OF 

the world; and should they arrive at mature 
age, they will probably be witnesses of great 
and glorious doings. For although man can 
see but little of coming time, yet the wisest and 
the best of men in this and other countries, 
are constrained to regard the events which are 
now taking place in the moral world, as the pre- 
cursors of that exalted period, which so often 
played before the prophetic vision of the inspir- 
ed of other times. And although I am by no 
means ready to believe, that nation shall no lon- 
ger lift up sword against nation, and that we shall 
immediately see all the exhibitions of that su- 
preme love to God which will constitute the glo- 
ry of that latter day which prophets have fore- 
told; still it appears to me, that the different as- 
sociations formed by the good of our own, and 
other Christian nations, having for their object 
the dissemination of the Word of God, and the 
spread of the religion of Christ among the ig- 
norant and heathen inhabitants of the dark pla- 
ces of the earth, are to be powerful means in 
bringing about that blessed period. I hope, 
therefore, as I said before, they will endeavor 
to realize their interesting situation, and to ex- 
ert themselves to become qualified to assist in 
carrying on this glorious work, should Provi- 






CHARLES POND. 59 

dence ever place them in circumstances where 
they could be advantageously employed. Let 
them be well assured too, that they will never 
have better opportunities than they now have. 
Their cares are few and small; they are at 
home. And, however, fools may sneer and 
witlings ridicule, they never will find a place on 
earth like home; for although greater advan- 
tages of education and improvement may be 
found elsewhere; still I believe no one can look 
back on the days he spent at home without sigh- 
ing over the loss of many a valuable privilege 
he there enjoyed. I tell you, mother, there is 
r magic in that word homey which I am persuaded 
is more powerful than any however celebrated 
in romance, or historic truth; excepting, per- 
haps, I should have said that of mother. They 
are both associated so inseparably with the bright 
hours of childhood's happiness, and the wild 
scenes of boyish recklessness, that they never 
can be heard without exciting a thrill of the 
most exquisite joy. I never saw but one being, 
who ever knew a mother's kindness, that could 
speak with scorn and ridicule of that parent's 
admonitions of tenderness. And never did I 
see the power of sin, and the depth of depravity 
#o strongly exemplified before. * * 



60 MEMOIRS OF 

■* * * * Oh how I pity his 

wretched mother. Would that the spirit of all 

grace would enter _the heart of her miserable 
offspring, and bring him to bow in deep contri- 
tion before the mercy of that Being whose pow- 
er he so dreadfully despises! 
Give my love to all. 

Affectionately, 

Your Son, 

Charles. 



Yale College, Friday, April, 1827. 
MY SISTERS, 

I was much pleased with your letter on Mon- 
day; not only on account of the neatness with 
which it was written, but also on account of the 
good sentiments it contained: and while we thus 
speak with so much feeling respecting the pearl 
of great price, God grant, that we may all of us 
at last, be found to have used our utmost en- 
deavors to become its happy possessors. 

In college, it is absolutely necessary to pos- 
sess religion; both to enable us to fulfil our du- 
ties as scholars, and to guard us against the 
thousand temptations to which we are constantly, 
and in a very great degree, imperceptibly ex- 
posed; and to give us a disposition to improve 



CHARLES POND. 61 

the opportunities afforded by a life like ours, of 
acquiring a knowledge of all that is important 
in the doctrines of the Bible, as explained and 
illustrated from the desk by the ablest of theolo- 
gians — in the Bible class, by scientific and pious 
teachers — and in the writings of those who have 
made the truths of Scripture their almost only 
study. But in the enjoyment of each other's 
society, religion exerts her purifying influence, 
in a degree almost inconceivable. She tells us 
to beware of intimacy with those who forget 
their God; but to bind our hearts with the cords 
of piety and friendship, those with whom we 
can share our pleasures and our sorrows, while, 
as pilgrims and sojourners here, we fix our views 
upon a better world, and travel to a dearer home. 
Oh, I have felt my pulse beat high, when after 
a short absence I have met my classmates' wel- 
come grasp ; but never did the ardent pressure 
of the hand, and the speaking glance of warm 
affection, tell so much of pure and settled friend- 
ship, as when they hailed me as a Christian 
brother. Often have I met them too, in the so- 
cial circle, to talk of home, and long gone days 
x>f boyhood, and the scenes of frolic and of joy 
which we knew long since; but never have I 
felt the working of a spirit too strong to be T&* 



62 MEMOIRS OF 

strained, so much as when we raised our voices 
in the solemn song, and united in ascribing 
praise to him who died to save a ruined world, 
and in imploring the blessings of our Heavenly 
Father upon those dear friends with whom we 
daily meet to show our progress in the path of 
learning, and whom we long to see united 
to the Church of God. 

I was rejoiced to hear there had been a small 
revival at home; and hope that all those who 
S ave experienced a change of feeling, may con- 
tinue to give good evidence of real piety. The 
work here we hope is gradually increasing; 
and during the last week, one or two others of 
my classmates, have been brought, as we humbly 
trust, to renounce the world, and seek a better 
portion in heaven. 

I suppose mother is not able to step about a 
great deal with that mouse of a baby yet, al- 
though the weather is so fine, and the time of 
the singing of the birds is coming, and the voice 
of the turtle is soon to be heard. You said 
Mary could read a little of my letter; let her 
try if sha can read this. I hope you will be 

A GOOD GIRL AND MIND MAMMA. I Suppose 

Maria can read the Testament finely, so that 
one of these days she will be able to read a good 



CHARLES POND. 63 

deal of my letters, and write me too. Charlotte 
must try to get up to the head again, so that 
when the young gentlemen come home with 
Charles, she will have another beautiful certifi- 
cate to show them. I hope you will all write 
me a good long letter on Monday. 

Your Brother, 

Charles. 



Yale College, Saturday, April, 1827. 
MY DEAR SISTER, 

It is with feelings which I should in vain at- 
tempt to describe, that I sit down to address 
you; nor would I now write another word 
which I imagined might in the least degree, 
wound your feelings, did I not think it to be my 
duty. And I entreat you not only to read this, 
but to preserve it and not suffer it to leave your 
hands, unless to be deposited where you can re- 
sort to it at pleasure. 

You, my sister, are placed in peculiar cir- 
cumstances. You are the eldest, in my ab- 
sence, of the family circle. On you, therefore, 
devolves the important office of setting such an 
example in every respect, as you would wish the 
younger ones to follow. And now ask yourself 



64 MEMOIRS OF 

I beseech you, whether you feel willing that 
they should imitate you, in all respects. Ex- 
amine yourself. l Do you rise in the morning 
before any of them, and then see that they rise 
and are properly dressed, and evefy thing res- 
pecting your clothes and room, arranged aright 
for breakfast ? At breakfast, do you see that 
your mother and sisters are helped before you 
help yourself, and that there is no confusion or 
disorder at table? Do you after breakfast, as- 
sist your mother in preparing your sisters for 
school, and see that they all go at a proper time? 
Do you prepare and go yourself in season? Do 
you at school, conduct in such a manner as to 
give satisfaction to your teacher and parents,, 
and your own conscience? Do you at home, 
strictly obey your mother, and endeavor, as far 
as you are able, to assist and please her; and 
do you pay strict attention to the conduct of 
your sisters, and see that th^y too, do the same r 
In short, is your whole conduct such as to give 
you satisfaction in reflecting upon it? Now I 
do not, by any of these inquiries, declare that it 
is not as I should hope, in one who has now ar- 
rived at years of discretion, and who is so pe- 
culiarly situated as you are. I only wish you 
to read these interrogations frequently, and with 



CHARLES POND. 65 

attention : and, as a pure desire for your wel- 
fare, dictated them, so also, when I know that 
you can answer each one of them to your own 
conscience, without the least reserve, will my 
satisfaction in having such a sister, be in- 
creased, # * # * 

Your Brother, 

Charles. 

A little before the close of the spring term, he 
Was at home on a short visit. After his return, 
he writes as follows to his mother. 

Yale College, May 1st, 1827. 
DEAR MOTHER, 

After a pleasant visit at home, I reached col- 
lege again on Monday noon, in health and pret- 
ty good spirits; although before night, the reac- 
tion, as metaphysicians, I suppose, would call 
it, of the excitement, made me feel rather dull 
and melancholy, But my accustomed studies, 
and the novelty of performance at a society's 
exhibition, have restored me again to my wont- 
ed state of feeling: and things are going on as 
regularly as ever. The first thing that struck 
me, when I sat down to think of my visit, was 
the great change which every body seemed to 

have undergone at home, since I saw them last, 
6* 



66 MEMOIRS OF 

I had formerly been too apt to measure out my 
respect for the good folks of Milford, in propor- 
tion to the firmness of their garments, or the 
gracefulness of their demeanor. But I now 
paid more attention to the evidences of their 
principles. And when I looked round in meet- 
ing, and saw some of those, whom I had for- 
merly been too ready to look upon with some- 
thing like pity for their ignorance of worldly 
accomplishments, seeming so eager to catch 
every word which fell from the lips of the rev- 
erend preacher, I could almost envy their con- 
tented and teachable dispositions, connected 
with that christian humility, which our Saviour 
so strikingly exemplified while on earth. Chris- 
tians of every description seemed nearer to me 
than any other class of people, and more worthy 
of high respect. 

We have nearly finished the duties of this 
term, and can now look back upon two thirds 
of our first, 'year collegiate,' which has gone 
like a dream. Thus, in all probability shall we 
feel, when we have arrived at the close, not on- 
ly of our college course, but of our mortal life. 
Lofty mountains rise in appalling magnitude be- 
fore us, but we find nothing behind us but tran- 
sitory visions. Yet I think, if any period leaves 



CHARLES POND. 67 

a more vivid impress of its passage than anoth- 
er, it must be the time spent here. No one 
that has not learned it from experience, can 
have any idea of the frequency of those occa- 
sions, when impressions the most powerful, are 
made upon the mind — impressions, which must 
naturally implant themselves so deeply in the 
memory, that they can never be obliterated. — 
For myself, I have felt since I entered college, 
as if I was engaged in a course of life, higher 
in its nature, and more peculiar in its character, 
than I had before conceived; and I feel assur- 
ed, that whatever may be my condition in after- 
life, recollection will present the scenes of col- 
lege to my view, in a light which will exhibit 
their connexion with the happiest hours of my 
existence. 

Please give my love to ail. 

Affectionatety Your Son, 

Charles. 

The following letter, written during the spring 
vacation, exhibits very happily his easy wit, 
combined with elegance of sentiment and ex- 
pression. 



6B MEMOIRS OF 



TO A COUSIN. 

Milford, May 7th, 1827. 



COUSIN C , 

I suppose you have looked at the signature, 
and as your surprise at seeing my name, is 
probably over now, I will just inform you how I 
came to write so unexpected an epistle. You 
must know then, that I am at home in the spring 
vacation, and it being a very rainy day, I walk- 
ed up stairs into my Aunt's room, for the pur- 
pose of writing to some of my absent friends; 
and as I was looking about for writing materials, 
my eye fell on a letter, the subscription of which 
I instantly knew to be your hand-writing; and 
without waiting a moment to deliberate on the 
propriety or impropriety of the act, I soon be- 
came engaged in the contents. Now, 'says I to 
myself,' I will see whether cousin has forgotten 
old times. So on I went till at length my eye 

met "Your sincere friend, C — ." Again 

I ran over a few of the last lines; but not a 
word could I find, that could be construed into 
the least intimation of remembrance of myself. 
Now I have no doubt, cousin, but it appears 
mighty presu tuous to you, that I should think 
of being mentioned in a young lady's corres- 
pondence; and so perhaps, from the nature of 



CHARLES POND. 69 

the case, would it strike the mind of every one. 
But let it be remembered, Miss, it is no trifling 
affair to be neglected, when one feels such per- 
fect innocence of every thing which might be 
made just ground of such neglect. Now, 'says 
I to myself again, this moment I'll sit down 
and try to compose myself enough to dictate, 
if I cannot write myself, a few lines to this 
young lady, and demand an explanation. And 
therefore, Madam, I beg you will with all candor 
and frankness, answer a few queries, and much 
oblige your humble servant. 
•f Can any reason be assigned for such neg- 
lect? And if any, what are the grounds on 
which it is based ? Did I not use all the means 
in my power, when you was in the goodly "land 
of steady habits," to render your situation as 
pleasant as possible? Did I not watch every 
opportunity to show my eager desire to mani- 
fest towards your ladyship all possible polite- 
ness? In a word, "have you any thing to say 
why sentence should not be pronounced against 
you according to law?" Far be it from me to 
transgress the well known laws of honorable 
courtesy, in my demands of an explanation res- 
pecting this mysterious affair; I only request 
your ladyship to consider these brief interroga- 



70 MEMOIRS OF 

tions, and if you esteem them worthy an answer, 
to grant me a speedy return. 

And now cousin, if you will give me credit 
for any sincerity, I really should be much pleas- 
ed with a tetter from you; and I hope you will 
often think of re-visiting us, until the idea be- 
comes a reality, You say the recollection of 
the time you spent with us, often brings with it 
unhappiness; and that sometimes you are almost 
led to regret the gratification your visit gave us. 
Oh, no — when you find the scenes of your re- 
turn to the home of your childhood bring up to 
your view any thing which you can rank with 
the bright hours of life, you should suffer re- 
membrance to paint it with a livelier hue, till im- 
agination removes the time and distance, and 
then the warmth of enjoyment will be kindled 
again. Now I believe, that much of the pleas- 
ure we feel in our pilgrimage, is derived from 
retrospection. Why I can sit down sometimes, 
when I feel a slight touch of the dark eyed gen- 
ius, and before I really know whither I am go- 
ing, I find myself laughing at some of the odd 
things of this life, which occurred when I was 
a little aproned boy, but just old enough to know 
that there were two sides to fortune's picture. 
I dare say you too, sometimes find yourself un- 



CHARLES POND. 71 

der that large elm tree which spreads itself so 
majestically, in the yard back of the mansion 
house, a romping girl of four or five years of 
age, with a light heart, sporting on the green 
turf, and gazing at^the cloudless skies. There, 
now I want you to burn this nonsense as soon 
as you have read it; and when I write again, I 
shall try to be a plain New England student, 

Yours truly, 
Charles. 

It seems appropriate heie, to make a remark 
or two in relation to the influence of the change 
in Charles's religious views and feelings, as de- 
tailed in the preceding letters, upon his charac- 
ter; more particularly as his example may serve 
to correct an impression but too common among 
the young, which is as pernicious in its influence, 
as it is unreasonable and ill-founded. Many 
entertain the idea, that religion necessarily 
throws a gloom over the vivacity of youthful 
feeling, clouds its bright visions of enjoyment, 
and renders the character forbidding and unlove- 
ly. Such, evidently, was not its influence on 
him. On the contrary, he habitually exhibited 
that cheerfulness, which is the natural offspring 
of a mind at peace within itself, and benevolent- 



72 MEMOIRS OF 

\y desirous of contributing to the happiness of 
others. And his own testimony in relation to 
his enjoyment, is, as we have already seen— 
that he " would not exchange it for all the vain 
objects of this lower world." Those who knew 
him will remember, that he was still the frank 
and affable companion, and others may infer 
from his correspondence, that his heart was not 
the seat of gloomy or unsocial feelings. Indeed 
it is perfectly obvious, that while, with a piety 
of the most ardent and genuine character, he 
aimed to have a conscience void of offence, toxvards 
God and towards man, he fully realized the truth 
of the assertion, that wisdom's ways are pleas- 
antness and all her paths are peace. 



CHARLES PQND. 73 



CHAPTER IV. 

Religious character — Letters — Decline of his health — Diary — 
Remarks on his diary — Diligence and success in his studioo— 
Letters — Themes— 'Finds it necessary to relinquish his studies 
on account of his health — Leaves college — Letters illustrative 
of his feelings on the occasion. 

It is too frequently the case, not only in col- 
lege but in almost every situation, that those 
who have but recently begun to hope that they 
are christians, manifest an unwillingness to take 
on themselves the full responsibilities of the 
christian character. For although they regard 
themselves as interested in the subject of reli- 
gion, yet as they have not avowed before the 
world their determination of devotedness to 
Christ, they seem to themselves to stand on a 
kind of middle ground, where it is not expected 
that they should exhibit the same activity in du- 
ty, as those who have been long and openly 
walking in the fear of the Lord. And under 
the influence of such an opinion, making little 
or no effort to exhibit the influence of religion 

upon their characters and conduct, before they 

7 



74 MEMOIRS OF 

i 

are prepared to make a public profession, they 
have become so much accustomed to regard it 
as a matter of personal feeling, rather than as 
an active principle, that their usefulness as chris- 
tians is thereby very much impaired. 

Such were not the sentiments by which 
Charles regulated his conduct, on assuming the 
christian character. On tho contrary, no soon- 
er was he satisfied that his heart was right with 
God, than he set himself faithfully to perform all 
the duties of a religious life; and as a natural 
result of such a course, he advanced in piety 
with a rapidity but rarely equalled, 

The following is the testimony of the Rev- 
erend gentleman, whose opinion of the early 
character of his mind, has already been addu- 
ced. 

" I saw him in vacation, when he appeared 
not merely as the amiable and accomplished 
youth, but as the serious and devout christian. 
Although young in years, and in his christian 
course, it cannot but be recollected, with what 
vigor and beauty shone forth in him the graces 
of the spirit. As has been remarked of his nat- 
ural character and talents, so there appeared in 
his christian character, an early maturity and 
strength. His humility also was worthy of re- 



CHARLES POND. 75 

mark. Although he was conscious of his own 
talents, and well aware of the estimation in 
which he was held by his friends and indeed by 
all who knew him, he still gave no indication 
of pride, ostentation or self-preference; but seem- 
ed to regard himself as too much thought of — 
too much beloved." 

Here it may be stated, partly from personal 
knowledge, and partly from private records of 
his habits, that he v/as peculiarly attentive to 
the perusal of the Scriptures and to the duties 
of private devotion; and to this circumstance 
probably is it chiefly to be attributed, that he 
exhibited in his life and conduct so much of the 
spirit and beauty of religion. The Bible, he 
regarded as of all books, the best calculated to 
refine and enlarge — to elevate and purify the 
mind of man. The closet was to him, as it is 
to every real christian, the place where is found 
peace, with which a stranger intermeddleth not, 
and where the heart gathers strength to sustain 
it in execution of every virtuous, every holy 
purpose. 

The spring vacation he spent at home, and at 
its close returned to college, and resumed his 
studies with his wonted ardor 



76 MEMOIRS OF 

Soon after his return, he wrote the following 
letter to his mother. 

Yale College, June, 1827, 
DEAR MOTHER, 

After spending four weeks very pleasantly at 
home, I again find myself surrounded by all 
the old companions, books and buildings of col- 
lege; and am fast sinking down into the old 
fashioned, quiet and peaceable state of acting 
and thinking, which so peculiarly characterizes 
the life of a student. Here we sit from morning 
till night, and sometimes nearly round to mor- 
ning again, poring over Latin and Greek, un- 
disturbed save by the thrilling tones of our little 
bell, and the light-hearted playfulness of inter- 
mission hours, from a term's commencement to 
its close. The world — why it is something far 
beyond us, which we gaze upon only through the 
long vista of a four years residence within the 
walls of Yale, as a theatre in which to exhibit 
our parts, when we are free from the task of 
committing them to memory, and rehearsing. 
When vacation arrives, why we gradually break 
our bonds, till at length, we are sufficiently sim- 
ilar to the "men of earth" to go out and mingle 
among them, without exciting too much atten- 



CHARLES POND. 77 

lion by our singularities. When the vacation 
is ended, we co$ne together again, and for a 
week or so undergo a gentle drilling, till we at 
length get cleared of our home accompaniments, 
and are prepared to use free heads in the service. 
The weather has been very, favorable since 
we returned, giving us good appetites and spir- 
its; which I must confess I did not believe 
were so indispensably necessary to prevent 
certain indescribable sensations (which we com- 
monly laugh at in little children, under the 
name of home-sickness) from exerting on those 
who call themselves almost men } an influence so 
strong as to stamp on their conduct the impress 
of childishness. It is, I think, a wise institu- 
tion of Providence, that the associations of in- 
fancy and home should entwine themselves so 
inseparably around the finer feelings of man. 
For next to the unspeakable joy of being ena- 
bled to look forward with the eye of faith to the 
blissful mansions prepared for the redeemed in 
heaven, is the calm glow of unmingled delight 
enkindled in the soul, by dwelling on the hours 
which glided so swiftly away while he basked 
in the sunshine of parental tenderness, with a 
heart bounding with the exultation of innocence 
and happiness, 

7* 



73 MEMOIRS OF 

It is now Saturday afternoon, and as I have 
considerable to do yet, I must close and go 
down to the office. 

Give my love to all; and believe me^ 

Affectionately, your Son^ 
Charles. 

Unhappily, the zeal with which he commenc- 
ed the term was destined to receive a speedy 
check. His constitution was naturally delicate ; 
and no small care had hitherto been requisite to 
enable it to sustain the pressure of close appli- 
cation. But the relaxing weather of the sum- 
mer so much impaired its energies, that after 
two or three weeks study, he was compel le J to 
leave the duties of college, and return home 
to recruit his strength. During this visit he 
wrote the following letter to a friend who was 
on a visit in the State of New-York. 

Milford, June 30, 1827. 
DEAR L- , 

In compliance with the request contained in 
your letter of the 26th inst. received this morn- 
ing, that some one would send you a few lines 
from home, I write the following to accompany 
the enclosed, which were handed us last night. 
The letter enclosing your's I took the liberty of 



CHARLES POM). 79 

opening, hoping to find one for myself. Ap~ 
propos — =1 discovered a word I couM not help 
smiling at. You observe when speaking of the 
brother of Mr. — — -, that Miss — — calls him a 
"very respectable young gentleman." Now 
within a few days I have heard it reported, that 

Miss was soon to be married to a Mr. 

who was soon expected from the South. It 
struck me at once, that this " very respectable" 
personage was the young gentleman in question. 

We have learned the gratifying particulars of 
your pleasant excursion up the North Rivei;; 
and all that occasioned regret in me, was that I 
had not accompanied you. 

Perhaps you will wonder at seeing my name 
at the bottom of a letter dated at Milford. — 
When I returned to college after vacation, my 
health was excellent— the weather was fine — 
and our studies, although hard, were exceedingly 
interesting, and I soon became engaged with all 
my heart. But in a short time my strength be- 
gan to fail me, and I was obliged, a week ago 
last Friday, to make a short visit at home. — 
Change of air, scene and diet, in a few days so 
beneficially effected my health, and spirits, that 
on Monday I returned to college. But on the 
following Saturday I was again compelled to bid 



30 MEMOIRS OF 

adieu to Yale — I did not know but forever. I 
have now been at home a week; in which time, 
by gentle exercise and care, I am almost as well 
as ever again. I have "obtained permission to 
board out of the Hall, and hope to be able to 

board with Mr. S where the similarity of 

living to that of home, and the agreeable com- 
pany of the family, I have no doubt will be of 
great advantage to me. I think I shall return 
on Monday, and by attention to my diet and ex- 
ercise I believe I shall be able to finish this term 
with pleasure. 

Yesterday I was extremely gratified by an 

accidental visit from Mr. C a member of the 

Junior Class, of distinguished talents and piety, 
and one of my particular friends, who has been 
absent from college since Monday, performing 
a pedestrian tour on account of his health. He 
spent the night with us, and started on foot in 
the morning for New Haven. Sometimes I am 
almost led to regard college as the destroyer of 
many parents' hopes, and many youthful expec- 
tations. However, I have in view a \ery pretty 
object to enable me to tug through this summer. 
For if my ears are ever again gladdened by the 
sweet sound of ( vacation,' I think the famed 
land of { steady habits' will contain one smiling 



CHARLES POND. 81 

youth, no longer than will be necessary for the 
proper blacking of his boots, the discreet friz- 
zling of his hair, and the nice adjustment of 
his cravat, preparatory to a comely appearance 
before the blue eyes of Long Island. 

And now I have only to hope and intreat, that 
you will write me as soon and as often as you pos- 
sibly can while in the city and on the Island — and 
to request that you will give my respects to my 
friends, and assure them of my highest regards. 

Yours truly, 

Charles. 

His health on his return to college did not 
appear materially improved; and on resuming 
his studies, again rapidly declined. Yet he 
could not reconcile himself to the idea of ab- 
sence from his class, and his pursuits; and by 
exertion to which his strength was altogether 
inadequate, he continued his application with- 
out remission, throughout the term. 

Soon after he became interested in the sub- 
ject of religion, he commenced a diary, in 
which he continued to write occasionally while 
he remained in college; though probably with 
less frequency and regularity than he would 
have done, had not his health been such as to 



82 MEMOIRS OF 

render it necessary for him to make his labours as 
light as possible. There is something at first view 
rather disagreeable, in the idea of bringing out 
to the inspection of the world, thoughts which 
were only the breathings of private devotion, 
and intended for the scrutiny of no eye but that 
of Him who seeth in secret. Yet they are of- 
ten so highly illustrative of the moral feelings 
of the individual concerned, that it seems diffi- 
cult to pass them over in delineating his chris- 
tian character. Such being the case in the 
present instance, it seems proper to insert a 
part of the memoranda which Charles occasion- 
ally made of the private feelings and exe.cises 
of his heart. 

Yale College, April, 13th, 1827. 
Whereas, I believe that I was created and 
sent into the world by a beneficent Creator, for 
the purpose of glorifying him in doing all the 
good I can to my fellow creatures, and advan- 
cing the interests of the Redeemer's kingdom; 
and, that as the most reasonable service, I 
should devote all my time, and all my faculties 
of soul, and body, as well as all which I possess 
of worldly riches, to the cause of Him, who died 
to ransom my guilty, head from the punishment 



CHARLES POND, 815 

which my many and heinous transgressions of 
the divine law so richly merited, 

Therefore, resolned, That by the grace of God ? 
(without which I can do nothing acceptably) I 
will make it my supreme object, in whatever 
condition of life I may be placed, to glorify and 
serve my Maker, and my Saviour in all things, 
and I would, therefore, at this time, in the pres- 
ence of God, and the holy angels, dedicate my- 
self entirely to Him, for time, and for eternity. 5 
And Oh! that He would enable me to realize the 
solemnity of the act, and give me to know, and 
feel what are the requisitions of His law, and 
strength to fulfil them! 

Resolved, With the asssistance of the Holy 
Spirit, to live near to God by prayer, medita- 
tion, and reading of His word, and to draw all 
my strength, support, and consolation from the 
same unlimited and all-bountiful source., and to 
strive with all my might to destroy all self-right- 
eousness, self-confidence, and pride, and to 
walk humbly before God, in the sight of all 
men. 

Resolved, To make it my constant supplica- 
tion at the throne of grace, to feel strong, and 
ardent love for my brethren in Christ, and next 
to that love of God, which, by the influence of 



84 MEMOIRS OF 

iiis Spirit, shall pervade and engage my whole 
soul, to desire, and manifest disinterested at- 
tachment to those, who like myself, are hoping 
and praying, that they may be the children of 
God. 

Resolved, That since I believe my present 
situation, as a member of College, is one of 
high responsibilities, and that the exerting a 
powerful influence here in favor of religion, is 
an act of incomparable advantage to the cause 
of Christ, I will make it my constant aim, to 
improve every opportunity, which I may enjoy 
while here, of conversing with those, over whom 
I deem it probable I may possess any influence, 
affectionately and solemnly, concerning their 
eternal interests; and to remember them in my 
prayers. 

Saturday, April, 14th, 1827. — It is now near- 
ly six weeks since I begun to hope I had be- 
come the Lord's, and during this short time, Oh! 
how far have I wandered from the path of duty! 
How little have I done to the glory of God ! 
Oh, that I could be enabled to renounce the 
world and live for heaven! 

Sunday. — Have enjoyed something like re- 
ligious peace and happiness, but still find great 
coldness and spiritual deadness. Temptations 



CHARLES POND. go 

are numerous and powerful, my health is poor, 
and all combine to create much darkness and 
unhappiness. Still the Saviour appears altogeth- 
er lovely, and the character of God has appear- 
ed inconceivably awful and delightful to-day. 
But I do not enjoy so much of confidence and 
faith in prayer as I desire; my thoughts wander, 
and seize on every thing but God. Oh, for that 
perfect holiness promised to the redeemed in 
heaven ! 

Tuesday.— When I look back on the state of 
my feelings to-day, I find more and more cause 
for great alarm in that change which has taken 
place in them within so short a time. I have 
solemnly dedicated myself to the service of my 
Maker, and my only prayer and heart's desire 
is grace to enable me to fulfil all the duties of a 
professed child of God. Oh, for humility, for 
every Christian virtue; none of which it does 
appear I do possess. Oh for a deliverance 
from this transitory scene of wickedness and 
sin. 

Saturday evening.— We are now reviewing 
our studies preparatory to the spring examina- 
tion,and I have been forced contrary to my desire 
and usual custom, to sit up late for a few days 
past, which has materially affected my health 



86 MEMOIRS OF 

and spirits and consequently my religious feel- 
ing. But still I know that I am willing to make 
any thing a cloak for neglect of duty. I feel 
that I might do more if I had a strong desire to 
do it. My own heart condemns me. Oh, what 
a load of guilt I am continually accumulating, 
constantly retreating from the ready embrace of 
my Saviour, and willing to be far removed from 
so kind and merciful a God. Temptation I feel 
to be strong; and yet expose myself to its influ- 
ence every hour. I must be more watchful and 
prayerful. I must, and by the blessing of God 5 ? 
I will no longer suffer Satan to triumph over my 
inconstancy and irresolution. I will return to 
my Heavenly Father. O receive me, thou God 
of love; take me in thy arms thou compassion^ 
ate Saviour, and let me be one of the dear lambs 
of thy flock! Oh what a refuge is the arm of 
Jehovah, how securely can we repose under the 
shadow of his wings. Spirit of grace, oh, de-* 
scend into my bosom, fill me with love to God 
and my fellow sinners, warm the ice of my af- 
fections, and build up in me the temple of holi* 
ness! 

Saturday evening, May 12lh. — Since 1 wrote 
in my diary last, my course of living has been 
very diversified. I have passed through the 



CHARLES POND. 87 

spring examination, have visited a friend and 
classmate, and now have returned home in va- 
cation. I find but very little attention to reli- 
gion here, although blessed be God there are 
indications of the operation of his Spirit suffi- 
cient to animate to increased prayer and active 
exertion. Mr. P. the minister of the society to 
which I belong, appears to feel anxious for a 
revival, and I do hope before the close of the 
vacation to witness good doings here. I attend- 
ed conference on Friday evening, and found a 
full room and I intend if possible to converse 
with some of my young religious friends to-mor- 
row, about having evening meetings for prayer 
and the formation of some plan of effort. Oh, 
that tha Father of all mercies would grant them 
and me the influence of his gracious Spirit, and 
disinterested devotion and zeal in His service, 
Without his blessing and assistance, how inef- 
fectual are all the endeavors of man to promote 
the interests of Christ's kingdom. 

Wednesday afternoon, May 21sf, 1827. — This 
is one of the days appointed by the church 
of college as a day of special prayer for a revi- 
val in Yale on the next term. Many a devout 
prayer, I have no doubt, has ascended to-day to 
the Throne of all Grace, and oh, may that God 



88 MEMOIRS OF 

who hears the ravens when they cry, permit 
the petitions of His unworthy children to come 
up before Him like sweet incense, and draw 
down a rich and long-continued blessing! He 
knows what is best for His creatures. He fully 
and clearly understands what will most promote 
His own glory and the welfare of man, and if 
He sees fit, we shall be blessed with a copious 
outpouring of His Spirit. Not our will, but 
thine, O God, be done. — In one week from to- 
day, our vacation closes, and we shall again 
commence the routine of our collegiate duties. 
Mingled with fears concerning the influence of 
the scenes at home upon myself and my young 
brethren in Christ, is the anticipated joy of again 
grasping the hand of those who are so dear to 
my heart from their ardent Christian zeal and 
love, and how I do desire that we may all go on 
with one heart and mind in praying and labor- 
ing for a revival in college. May the Lord 
God in the infinite fullness of His love bless our 
feeble endeavors to serve Him while on earth, 
and at length grant us an open and abundant en- 
trance into His heavenly kingdom, where is 
fullness of joy for evermore. 

Tuesday evening, June lQth. — -I have again 
returned to college, with feelings, oh, how &i£* 



CHARLES POND. 89 

ferent from any with which I ever came before. 
Christians appear to be determined to be on the 
Lord's side, and pray and labor for a revival 
here this term. Oh that God may bless them, 
■ — Since I have been here, one of my dear 
Christian friends in the senior class, has propo- 
sed to me to join the church in college next 
communion, Although I have looked forward 
with a kind of wandering gaze to the time when 
I shall become one of the members of Christ's 
visible family, yet when another brought it so 
distinctly before me, it appeared to me some- 
thing with which I never could engage. It is 
a solemn thing to take the vows of God upon us. 
Oh, how few appear to realize it; I can only 
go to God and plead the merits of His Son, that 
He would guide me in this solemn time, and 
preserve me from doing any thing that will ever 
dishonor His cause. 

Wednesday Evening. — There were during 
the revival last term, about twelve in my class, 
who expressed hopes of being Christians, and 
to-day, nearly all that number met in the reci- 
tation room, our regular place of meeting. Oh, 
my heart is sad when I remember the anima- 
tion which brightened every countenance, and 

the warmth of feeling which beamed from eve- 

8* 



90 MEMOIRS OF 

ry eye when we met on similar occasions last 
term, and contrast it with the appearance of 
my brethren, and my own feelings now. But 
what can be done ? If we are indeed the chil- 
dren of God, we are born for some end. Doubt- 
less to glorify and serve our Heavenly Father. 
Olv, it is sweet to live near to God. But I eve- 
ry day see so much proneness in myself to re- 
turn to the world, and so little love to my Sav- 
ior, and my fellow students, and especially to 
ihose whom I call my brethren, that I feel al- 
most tempted to believe the whole is a delusion 
of Satan. Oh, for brighter views of the char- 
acter of Christ, for stronger faith in the prom- 
ises of God, for stricter conformity to the requi- 
sitions of Jesus! 

Thursday morning. — I have attempted to pray 
this morning, but my mind is so darkened by 
sin, I cannot lift up a single petition to Goi. 
Oh, how dreadful it is to be forsaken of God. 
Father who art in heaven, return, Oh return to 
thy penitent creature; enable me, Oh God, to 
live to thy glory forever. 

Friday morning. — I attended a meeting in our 
entry, last evening, and afterwards conversed 
sometime with one of the late converts of the 
Junior Class, who has been spending his vaca- 



CHARLES POND. 91 

lion in a Revival, and who consequently came 
back with his feelings warmly enlisted in the 
work of Christ, and by the blessing of God, I 
hope I was enabled, during the evening to re- 
solve in His strength to live hereafter more de- 
voted to his service than I have ever done be- 
fore. I must now be more frequent in prayer 
and reading the Bible, with strict self examina- 
tion, and faithfulness to my brethren, and im- 
penitent fellow students, and endeavor, in what- 
ever I may do, to keep constantly in view the 
glory of God. — Oh, what a blessed state of 
mind. Father who art in heaven, grant that 
thy sinful creature may experience its happi- 
ness. 

Saturday evening, September 1st, 1827. — I 
have again taken my diary, but little have I to 
write. During the past week, I have, with 
others, who also hope they have found an inter- 
est in the Saviour, been examined by Professor 
Fitch, previous to admission into the church. 
This forms a new epoch in my life, and appears 
to call loudly for something worthy to accompa- 
ny it. I can do nothing better than form new 
resolutions of obedience and entire devotion to 
that blessed Saviour, whose cause I am about 
to openly profess to espouse. 



92 MEMOIRS OF 

October, 1827. — First Term Sophomore year. 

As I am now about to commence a new year, 
it appears necessary to take a brief review of 
the past, and to form some resolutions for that 
which is coming. Among the events of the 
past year, I reckon my entrance into College as 
important in a high degree, but chiefly on ac- 
count of what I deem inexpressibly interesting 
and important; an event which should ever be 
remembered by me with feelings of the utmost 
solemnity and gratitude. I refer to the event of 
the last revival. Then I was permitted, through 
the mercy of God, to hope that I was led to cast 
myself as a ruined sinner at the foot of the 
cross, and to receive forgiveness of my sins, 
through the atonement of Christ. To hope that 
from death, I passed unto life, — from a condemn- 
ed rebel, to become an heir 'of eternal life, through 
faith in the promises. I have therefore come for- 
ward and in the presence of the world, have uni- 
ted myself to the church on earth. It appears to 
me, that as far as I can see, I was influenced by 
a desire to become a partaker of the manifesta- 
tions of the love of Christ, and to feel as if I 
was enrolled among the soldiers of the cross, 
and to experience an active and zealous dispo- 
sition in the service of God, God only know* 



CHARLES POND. 93 

the heart, and to Him my earnest prayer is,that 
I may not be deceived; but that I may be ena- 
bled, through His grace, to fight manfully the 
good fight, and sincerely to desire His glory, 
and the good of souls. I now feel it to be a 
glorious thing to be on the Lord's side; and 
feel as if I could pray more earnestly for direc- 
tion how to act — for faith in his promises, for an 
untiring and ardent zeal in His service, — for 
entire devotedness to His cause. What I most 
fear, in the coming year, is the influence of am- 
bition. Our studies are hard, and I fear the 
consequences. My only hope and consolation, 
is the promise of our Lord, My Grace shall be 
sufficient for thee, 



From the preceding extracts, it is apparent^ 
that he habitually kept his heart ivith all diligence. 
They exhibit the spirit of fervent — devoted piety; 
evincing that humility, self distrust, and fear of 
sin, which are the highest evidence of genuine 
religion. His admission to the church was on 
the first sabbath of September, and the last of 
the summer term. 

At the prize-speaking, on the day preceding 



94 MEMOIRS OF 

commencement, at the close of the term, he re- 
ceived the first prize awarded to his class. 

Thus ended his first collegiate year. The 
vacation which succeeded, he spent chiefly in 
travelling and visiting his friends; hoping by 
exercise and recreation to regain his exhausted 
strength. His hopes, however, were destined 
to disappointment. The benefit which he de- 
rived was only temporary; and very shortly after 
the commencement of the succeeding term, 
the state of his health was such as to threaten 
the necessity of a total suspension of his studies. 
It is probable that the prospect of being thus 
compelled to relinquish pursuits in which he so 
much delighted, and to dissolve his connexion 
with a class to which he was most ardently at- 
tached, conspired with the influence of his dis- 
ease, in producing a state of mental depression, 
under which he, at this period, labored at fre- 
quent intervals. However notwithstanding all 
the embarrassments with which he had to con- 
tend, he continued to discharge the duties of 
college so industriously as to maintain the high 
standing he had previously acquired. 

He continued also his regular correspondence 
with the family at home ; a few more extracts 



CHARLES POND, 95 

from which, it is believed, will be read with in- 
terest. 

Yale College, Oct. 1827. 
DEAR MOTHER, 

If it does not augur well to see a young man 
as soon as he arrives at his place of destination^ 
direct his thoughts and occupations homewards, 
I know nothing of signs. Here you find me 
no sooner seated before my fire in my college 
room, than I have my papers hauled out; in the 
first place some lines drawn, by the help of an 
old slate, nearly as straight as a scythe; then 
an old pen is mended, and lastly, amidst the 
bustle of the first evening in the term, with one 
running in to ask for a pen, another to enquire 
how we all do, another to tell me he would re- 
turn a book to-morrow, &x. &c. &c, 1 labor 
away to condense and arrange my ideas suffi- 
ciently to commit them to paper. (Since I 
began the above sentence, my room has been 
nearly full, and about as noisy as was Babel of 
yore.) 

J and myself were just now comparing 

our situation to-night with what it was a year 
ago. JYoWy we feel as if we had returned to an 
«old and well known home, and could, as one of 



96 MEMOIRS OF 

our fellows said just now, keep our blinds open 
in style. Then, we were so many prisoners and 
exiles — every hole in the blind and door were 
filled most carefully; and we sat in momentary 
expectation of some nefarious trick being play- 
ed off on our miserable selves, by the relentless 
Sophs; thinking ourselves happy, when awaking 
in the morning, we found our room safe, and 
ourselves in the land of the living. 

'7V' •7V' *7&* 4v* ■7V* *Z? 'fV' 

The weather, so far, has been fine for study, 
and may be expected to continue so. My time 
must all be occupied this term. I feel as if I 
had more to do than I ever have had while in 
college; and I also feel more determined, by 
the blessing of Providence to do it, than I ever 
did before; so that I think I have two pretty 
strong inducements to application before me, 

#.AA, .AS, JA, ^J, .AA. JA. OL. 

*7t* •vf' •7T' *?v* *7T' *7T *7p 

Your affectionate Son, 

Charles. 



Yale College, Nov. 1827. 



DEAR SISTERS, 



As your hint that I should devote more time 
to my letters was well given, and well received, 
I had determined at this time, by more attention, 



CHARLES POND, 93f 

to make up, if possible, the deficiencies of my 
last. Yet I am at a loss how to fill up my sheet 
as I designed, owing to my having but very lit- 
tle news to communicate, and having already 
said almost every thing which I think would be 
of importance to you, if attended to. However, 
I hope you will find something in every thing 
you read, which will tend to improve you in 
some important particular; at any rate, such 
should be your aim, both in reading, and in all 
other exercises you perform. 

As to your reading, I must say I was not al- 
together pleased with what I saw when at home 
last. But I suppose great allowances should 
be made, considering that I was there, and that 
consequently so much diligence could not be 
expected, as when you have the time entirely to 
yourselves. Nothing I can say, I trust, can set 
before you in a stronger light the importance 
and pleasures of a cultivated mind, than your 
own calm reflections, and reasonable views of 
the situation and prospects of those around you. 
I would not inculcate the idea, that unalloyed 
happiness is the attendant on any course of life. 
The workings of Providence in causing disap^ 
pointment and trouble, are witnessed towards 

almost exery member of the human family, in § 
9 



9tf MEMOIRS OF 

greater or less degree; but I believe you will 
find, when you are more advanced in life, and 
extend your observation over a wider field, that 
true independence of character — a just idea of 
the concerns of life, and an enviable share of 
refined pleasure, are oftener to be found in the 
learned and the good, than in any other portion 
of mankind. True, man is generally more de- 
pendant on the resources of his mind in life, 
than woman; and the influence of his learning 
and mental powers is more conspicuous, than 
that of those whose occupations and feelings, 
in a measure withhold them from an open inter- 
course with the world. But notwithstanding, 
could the more apparent, and seemingly more 
powerful influence of man ; be weighed in the 
scale of candor,, balanced by the silent power 
of woman, the latter, I believe, would sink the 
scale. In the history of those who have made 
the world stand mute in wonder at the various 
exhibitions of their powers, you will find, in 
many instances, the early bent of mind formed 
by a mother's precepts, apparent on every suc- 
ceeding page. Read the encomiums which the 
wise and good bestow on female excellence,— 
see the indications of the power of maternal in- 
fluence in the conduct of almost every individual 



CHARLES POND 99 

of our species; and you are at once convinced 
of the importance of the utmost cultivation of 
the female mind. 

You may never be placed in situations which 
will call for extraordinary attainments in science; 
but I desire you to be well persuaded, that in 
no state or condition in life, will the utmost pos- 
sible exertions you can now make, be without 
their good effect. 

Hoping that you will take what I have said 
as proceeding from a solicitous desire for your 
welfare; and with a great deal of love to all, I 
subscribe myself 

Your Brother, 

Charles. 

The business of English composition holds a 
prominent place among the duties of the stu- 
dents at Yale College. The class of which 
Charles was a member, were required, after the 
second term of the first year, to write individu- 
ally every week, on subjects which were propos- 
ed by the Professor who superintended the ex- 
ercise. In perusing the specimens which fol- 
low of his talents as a theme-writer, it is neces- 
sary that the reader should bear in mind that 
they are not the productions of one who has 



100 MEMOIRS OF 

been through a course of study, and consequently 
has a mind stored with general knowledge, but 
of one but just commencing. If regarded as first 
efforts, they will, it is believed, be found to pos- 
sess no inconsiderable merit. 

Of these which are inserted, the first is the 
first theme he ever wrote. The two following 
were written intermediately; and the last, is 
the last he ever wrote, and one which gained 
the first prize awarded by the committee of ex- 
amination to his division. 



ON INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER, 

In the concerns of nations and individuals^ 
ho trait of character appears more necesssary, 
or more commanding in the eyes of men, than 
that of independence. Nations agree in for- 
ming relations with each other; and in the 
maintainance of these, as well as in the manage- 
ment of their domestic concerns, it is univer- 
sally admitted, that those nations who maintain 
a decided and independent course of conduct, 
are less engaged j n controversy with others — 
enjoy more tranquility at home, and possess 
greater respect abroad, than those who in every 



CHARLES POND, 101 

step of their conduct evince a exposition to 
please, by a servile attention to the views and 
wishes of others. 

But the causes and effects of this principle in 
individual character, exhibit great diversity. 
In some men, it would seem to spring from the 
natural temperament oj their system; and we see 
the evidences of its influence on the character, 
in the bold and fearless conduct, and the high 
tone of feeling which so-peculiarly characterizes 
these individuals. Some of this class are found 
to be generous, open-hearted, liberal in their 
sentiments, and courteous in their demeanor; 
others are haughty and forbidding in their be- 
havior, and stern and unyielding in their dispo- 
sition. 

Wealth usually occasions a high sense of in- 
dependence in its possessors; but where this 
spirit manifests itself in acts of arrogant assum- 
ing, we are apt to look with contempt on the 
pretentions of the individual, and to despise 
him for his weakness. 

The circumstances of war, often operate pow- 
erfully in producing minds of an independent 
character; and where wc behold this quality, as- 
sociated with the more pleasing properties of 

benevolence, humanity and patriotism, we feel a 
9 # 



102 MEMOIRS OF 

degree of awe in contemplating its possessor. 
But when selfish ambition, cruelty and a savage 
love of war and its miseries, occupy the place 
of these milder qualities, we may indeed be as- 
tonished at his deeds of valor, and stand aghast 
at the extent of his work of desolation, but we 
regard him an object of the utmost abhorrence, 
and feel shocked at the fierceness of his cruelty, 
Of these different characters, the records of an^ 
tiquity, and our own remembrance, furnish suf- 
ficient specimens. To mention a few examples: 
with what different feelings do we contemplate 
the characters of the ambitious tyrant of Rome^ 
glorying in the pride of vanquishing his coun- 
try and that of the patriotic asserter of her 
rights, who, relying on the justice of the cause) 
could set at naught the claims of friendship, and 
all considerations of private interest, and rise in 
bold resistance to the proud usuper. Why do 
we look with such exalted feelings at the heroes 
of ancient Greece, but that they immortalized 
their names in acting for their country. And 
why does the mention of him who was at once 
the wonder and the scourge of Europe, so invol- 
untarily awaken our indignation, but that we 
behold in him the haughty aspirant to the gov- 
ernment of half a hemisphere^ and the prou4 



CHARLES POND. 

Contemner of the laws of nations, and the rights 
of man. And why, as the result of all his 
schemes of madness and destruction, do we, 
with pity for his infatuation, but assenting to the 
justice of the sentence, behold him banished — 
an exile on a barren rock in the ocean, but that 
we consider it as the meet reward of such bai> 
barous despotism, and such high-toned arro- 
gance. What, on the other hand, throws 
around the character of our Washington such 
deep veneration, but the fact that in him were 
combined the stern qualities of the soldier, and 
the milder virtues of the christian. 

Again; strong mental powers , and profound 
learning, create a bold and manly independence 
of character; wholly different in its nature from 
any which have been mentioned, and comman- 
ding perhaps more respect. We regard such 
a man, walking as he does, in the light of every 
science, and gifted with the learning of almost 
every age, a being claiming more than mortal 
deference, and commanding more than ordi- 
nary regard. So far do we carry this feeling 
of veneration, that often, in our encomiums on 
the scholar, we forget the character, of the man; 
and suffer those vices which, in a person of or- 
dinary attainments, would render him almost 



104 MEMOIRS OF 

unworthy of the appellation of a human being;. 
to be lost in the brightness of his genius. How 
little is the dissoluteness of Shakespeare's gen- 
ius regarded in comparison with the beauty of his 
writings; but who does not know that, with all 
the sublimity of his conceptions, and the force 
and grandeur of his imagery, the true source of 
interest is wanting to the man of morality and 
religion. Around the name of Byron too, the 
hand of poesy has entwined its flowers; but 
while in all the pride of intellect, he rears him- 
self against the hand that made him, and hurls 
defiance at the source of being; we may indeed 
gaze in wonder at the greatness of his powers, 
but not without feeling a degree of pity on con- 
templating a mind like his, burying itself, with 
the sullen madness of a fiend, in the gloom of 
misanthropy, and sending forth the offspring of 
his hate, to taint with infidelity and vice, the 
fairest fields of literature and poetry. 

But of all the various kinds of independence 
of character, none is more unexceptionable 
than that which arises from a high sense of moral 
obligation. * It is the man of piety who posses- 
ses the highest independence. Behold him in 
every situation in life, and you see the same 
disregard of the world, the same intensity of 



CHARLES POND. 105 

interest in high pursuit, and the same exhibi- 
tions of the grand principle of his conduct. In 
battle, the daring soldier, in the exultation of 
victory, the generous friend of the vanquished; 
treading the flowery heights of prosperity with 
safety, not rendered giddy by the elevation; in 
the rough vale of adversity, casting aside, as un- 
worthy of notice, what often drives the man of 
the world to despair; and like the rock in the 
ocean, receiving unmoved the shock of calam- 
ity, and meeting 1 with firmness, the violence of 
enemies. 



ON CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 

The human character is a grand and beauti- 
ful subject of comtemplation. To observe it 
in its various forms, and to study the causes of 
its diversities, would afford employment for the 
longest life, and exercise for the faculties of 
the strongest mind. In no state, however, does 
it exhibit so beautiful a spectacle, as when in its 
numerous operations, its various traits all har- 
monize with each other, and a spirit of consist- 
cy breaths throughout the whole. But when 
the opposite view is presented, when discord^ 



106 MEMOIRS OF 

inconsistency, and confusion pervade its actions, 
nothing can equal the deformity of the picture. 

The truth of these remarks will be clearly 
seen, by reflecting a few moments on the evils 
incident to an inconsistent character. 
, In the first place, the man of such a character 
possesses no claims to the respect of his fellow 
men, and consequently meets, as he deserves, 
with their contempt. There is something in 
consistency which so universally commends it- 
self to the minds of men, that when it is seen in 
a character destitute, perhaps, of every other 
praiseworthy quality, it commands respect, and 
is sometimes even permitted to throw a veil over 
conduct and motives deserving the highest cen- 
sure. But he who evinces by his actions that 
he is influenced only by the feelings of the mo- 
ment, who is now ardently supporting some nov- 
el sentiment, and now as violently opposing it; 
at one time eagerly pursuing this object, at an- 
other that; soon finds that mankind are unwilling 
to bestow much countenance upon one so likely 
to be constantly involving himself and them in 
such absurd and unnecessary difficulties. 

Hence again, such a character looses all 
hold on the confidence of others. The grounds 
on which one man is entrusted with the con- 



CHARLES POND. 107 

cerns of many, are, that he is thought capable 
of fulfilling the engagements into which he en- 
ters. But how can he, who knows not to-day 
what may be his plan of operation to-morrow, 
have committed to his care the interests of 
those who expect in their agents an onward, un- 
deviating, and unbiassed course of conduct? 
How can he promise for others, when he knows 
not how he will act for himself? 

. Strange, however, as it may seem, this is for 
the most part, the character of mankind. If 
we examine ourselves with the least impartiali- 
ty, we find that we are the most changeable of 
beings, and that instability is stamped upon all 
our purposes and opinions. The causes of this 
fluctuation are as endless as the changes they 
effect; and as well might we attempt to count 
the waves of the ocean, and number the passing 
clouds, as to declare the sum of them. Better 
will it be to consider some of the means by 
which we may avoid, or at least, lessen, some of 
the evils so indissolubly connected with this 
general trait of the human character. 

First, then, we should take a comprehensive 
view of the various relations of life, and bv 
considering the difficulties which usually fall 
to the lot of man, become prepared to encounter 



108 MEMOIRS OF 

them, and resolve to subject ourselves to the 
empire of reason. 

We ought then to choose some great object 
of pursuit, to the attainment of which all our 
efforts should harmoniously tend, and every fac- 
ulty of the soul be employed. We ought also 
to determine that nothing shall divert us from 
the pursuit. And although the friendship of 
the great would be the meed of our relinquish- 
ment — although a desire to gratify those around 
us, and an innate desire of ease, as well as the 
applause of the world, might tempt us to swerve; 
although ambition might point to the proud 
pinnacles of fame, or pleasure allure us to her 
gardens of happiness; even although disease 
should palsy our energies, yet as long as we 
possessed the power to exert one member of our 
frame, or a throb of our hearts told that life yet 
remained, that power should be used for the 
accomplishment of our purpose, and the last 
heavings of our bosoms should be full of ardor 
in the cause of our espousal. 



ON THE ORIGIN OF SENSIBILITY. 
To most men, the word, sensibility, conveys 
but a very indistinct idea. Generally, however, 



CHARLES POND. 109 

it is associated in their minds with the fanciful 
notions of the visionary novel reader, or the 
sickly dreams of the imaginative poet, but deem- 
ed unworthy to be applied to the feelings of 
men of sense. The course of reasoning by 
which they are led to adopt such views is usu- 
ally this. We, say they, were placed in the 
world to perform our respective parts, an' 1 to 
receive our share of its good or evil. When 
fortune smiles we are to rejoice; and when ad- 
versity comes upon us, we are to bear its sor- 
rows with what grace we may. We believe it 
to be our duty to aid the truly unfortunate, as 
far as a regard to our own interest will permit; 
but for him who is forever mourning over imag- 
inary ills, and sacrificing the enjoyment of the 
pleasures of life to unnecessary grief for the 
woes of others, or perhaps for those which ex- 
ist only in his own disturbed fancy, for him we 
feel no sympathy, with him we desire no com- 
munion. 

And thus it is; selfishness may clothe itself 
in the garb of prudence and be esteemed, while 
he whose generous soul is open to all the mis- 
eries of the children of wretchedness, and who, 
when he looks out upon the wide family of 
man, forgets his own sorrows in his sympathy 



110 MEMOIRS OF 

with them, .may sink unhonored into his grave,' 
while those who, perhaps, while he lived were 
the objects of his pity, are the first to heap scorn 
upon his memory. Can we wonder then, that 
so few have appeared among the multitudes of 
men, whose hearts have glowed with the gen- 
erous flame of sensibility; and that when an 
indulgent Providence has granted one and an- 
other as bright examples, they have so soon be- 
come chilled with the cold unfeelingness that 
prevailed on earth, and hastened away to the 
world where naught but harmony prevails, and 
where, from a source pure as Infinite Benevo- 
lence, flow streams of eternal love. Still, al- 
though "like angel visits, few and far between," 
have been the instances of men possessing to 
a high degree a refined and elevated sensibility, 
and although on the greater part of these, afflic- 
tion laid heavily her rod, and death early seized 
upon them for his victims, yet while they lived 
they were not wholly destitute of happiness. — - 
No, although men usually suppose that he who 
receives with thankfulness, and uses with mod- 
eration the gifts of heaven, should expect to 
find no higher happiness than that which results 
from such a course; yet I believe that in the 
exercise of sympathetic feelings, in opening the 



CHARLES POND. Ill 

soul to joy when others are made happy ? and in 
indulging bitterness of spirit in view of the 
scenes of misery with which the earth is filled, 
there exists a pleasure high and ennobling in its 
nature, as that which swells the bosoms of the 
inhabitants of heaven. 

The origin of sensibility, and of the pleasure 
it affords, is discovered in the constitution of the 
mind. When God created the soul of man he 
endowed it with qualities drawn from his own 
pure nature, and in the improvement and culti- 
vation of these qualities he placed the happiness 
of his creatures. He knew that the other ranks 
of being which filled the air, the earth, and the 
sea, would find in the indulgence of their animal 
propensities, a pleasure suited to the place they 
were designed to fill in the order of creation; 
but to man whom he had made for immortality, 
He knew some other and higher source of hap- 
piness was necessary, than the gratification of 
his sensual desires; one that should be lasting 
as the eternity of his existence, and worthv of 
the divine nature of his spirit. 

For this end, therefore, He planted in the 
heart of man the seeds of love. He fitted him 
for friendship — bestowed on him the principles 
of his own glorious attributes, and ordered in his 



112 MEMOIRS OF 

wisdom that if they were suffered to expand 
upon earth towards himself and mankind, they 
should ripen in heaven, and be made perfect in 
the joys of an endless fruition. But since these 
exalted qualities must of course lie dormant in 
the soul, unless causes should exist to draw them 
into active exercise, He furthermore decreed^ 
that in the condition of his creatures, there 
should prevail endless variety, and that change 
should be unceasingly affecting their probationa- 
ry state. 

Hence to no man does the sun o' prosperity 
forever shine in a cloudless sky; and even the 
most abject sons of woe and wretchedness, are 
often visited by the cheering smiles of hope and 
gladness. Hence too, we do not find the hearts 
of the most savage dwellers in the wilderness 
wholly destitute of tender and generous emo- 
tions; and even he whose life has been one con- 
tinued scene of hardship and privation, who 
perhaps from childhood, has been accustomed 
to the dangers of the ocean, and whose soul has 
acquired from the angry tempest and the howl- 
ing storm, a wildness and ferocity, equalled only 
by the fierceness of the elements with which he 
has contended, has moments when even the iron 
stubbqrnness of his spirit breaks. Amid, per- 



CHARLES POND. 113 

haps, the roaring of waters and the fury of the 
tempest, he sometimes remembers his mother, 
and his God. 

Hence too, do we feel in our bosoms the 
workings of filial and paternal tenderness;— 
hence that esteem which at first only heightens 
in our view the good qualities of the object of 
our regard, and then insensibly assumes a stron- 
ger character, until the adamantine bond of love 
oan be sundered by nothing, save the power of 
the monarch of the tomb. 

Hence too, in youth when associating with 
each other, do we perceive that early springing 
up of friendship, which continues to derive new 
strength as it advances, until our hearts enjoy 
communion in the language of brotheily affec- 
tion. 

Hence therefore, flows the stream of sensi- 
bility. And in proportion as, in accordance 
with the design of a wise Providence, we drink 
deeply of its waters, shall the pleasure it affords 
be pure and lasting. 

10* 



114 MEMOIRS OF 

ON THE INFLUENCE OF HOPE, ON THE USE- 
FULNESS AND HAPPINESS OF MAN. 

In the characters and conditions of men, 
there exists an almost endless variety. If we 
look abroad upon the world, we behold some 
borne smoothly on by prosperous breezes ; while 
others are struggling with the storms of adver- 
sity; some nearly overwhelmed by the billows, 
and others just beginning to encounter the fury 
of the tempest. 

In the countenances of some, we see vividly 
depicted the flush of animation, and the bright- 
ness of joy; while others are marked with the 
deep lineaments of sorrow and despair. 

Could we follow them through life, we should 
find one class almost as soon as they were ca- 
pable of understanding the nature of the scenes 
presented to their view, eagerly adopting some 
one of these various parts, and steadily main- 
taining it to the end of life; while others after 
having long remained fluctuating in suspense, 
might at length be seen, when perplexed, and 
distracted by indecision, rushing for deliverance 
to the grave of the suicide! or in some rash 
moment, entering with the vehemence of despe- 
ration some dubious path ; which, when they had 
f ur&ued with till the perseverance of seeming 



CHARLES POND. 115 

determination for an hour, is forsaken in disgust 
and another course adopted, which in its turn 
is soon abandoned. While yet another class 
would be seen folding their hands in indolence, 
and after a few momentary struggles, as they be- 
hold the doom of poverty and ignominy which 
awaited them, gradually sinking away into si- 
lence and oblivion. 

Could our view penetrate their bosoms, and 
comprehend the workings and influence of their 
feelings; we should behold the hearts of those 
who were actively engaged in promoting their 
own welfare and that of others, throbbing high 
and unceasingly, with the full gush of hope; 
while in those who appeared to act only from 
the impulse of the moment, despair would sit 
brooding upon the principles of existence, cor- 
roding the secret springs of action, and ex- 
hausting every fountain of enjoyment. 

And thus it is. When God placed man upon 
the earth, and destined him to a life of toil, He 
left hirn not without abundant stimulus to en- 
terprize and perseverance, and a rich source 
of happiness and consolation in affliction. For 
He decreed in his mercy, that hope should en- 
ter his soul, and prove his supporter and stay, 
through every scene of life, and in the hour of 



i'16 MEMOIRS OF 

death ; light up the prospect before him in eter- 
nity. Had he been created to live for himself 
alone, perhaps in the pursuit of his own selfish 
pleasures, his days would have glided joyfully 
away, and no excitement would have been neces- 
sary to rouse him to exertion, or urge him onward 
to the execution of his plans. But when sur- 
rounded by multitudes of fellow beings, all 
claiming a share of his attention and labor; 
something more powerful than his own corrupt 
inclination is requisite to enable him to fulfil the 
obligations devolving upon him from his social 
relations. 

Here, then, is manifested the benign influ- 
ence of hope on the happiness of man. For it 
is she that opens to him the future, and fires his 
soul with ardor, by blessing his vision with 
crowns of success awaiting his efforts. To the 
student, she exhibits fame and distinction as the 
rewards of his toil; to the man of business, she 
points out honor and wealth as the end of his 
labors; the philanthropist she cheers with pros- 
pects of wide spread happiness; she bids the 
humble christian gird himself to battle, for end- 
less bliss will follow certain victory. 

With such inducements to exertion, man can-' 
not remain inactive. The student forsakes the 



CHARLES POND. 117 

giddy round of fashion, and all the pleasures of 
the world, and devotes the bloom of youth, the 
brightest portion of his earthly existence, to 
the wasting confinement of literary pursuits. 
The man. of business determines that no labor 
shall be spared till riches and honor are his. — 
The philanthropist prepares to extend his help- 
ing hand to the miserable and afflicted. And 
he who looks away from earth to the bright 
world beyond the grave, feels his heart glow 
with holy zeal, and in his course of rectitude re- 
solves to endure every trial, and bear up against 
every enemy, until death shall close the conflict. 
But disappointment and misfortune are inter- 
woven with every man's destiny. How often 
does the hand of early disease spread gloom 
over the prospects of him, who is panting with 
all the ardor of youth after distinction in learn- 
ing; and oh! how often do the slanders of envy, 
or the coldness of neglect come home to his 
finely wrought sensiblity, with all the bitterness 
of the sting of death? How often amid the 
wreak of his fortune, does he who has gone forth 
after riches, feel ready to give himself up in 
despair to the fury of the storm? How often 
does he who has sacrificed every selfish consid- 
eration to his enthusiastic desires after the alle- 



118 MEMOIRS OF 

viation of human wretchedness, feel tempted 
to repress all anxiety for a world where he meets 
with nothing but ingratitude ? And how frequent 
are the seasons, when even he whose hold is 
fixed on Heaven, when the cares of life come 
pressing upon his mind, and temptation has 
drawn him away from the path of duty, feel as 
if forsaken of his Father and his God ? 

What then, is there in these seasons of des- 
pondency that come alike to all, that shall pre- 
vent man from regarding his fate as fixed for- 
ever in misery; and enable him to take courage 
and persevere ? It is hope ? that extends her ma- 
gic wand, and through the clouds and mist that 
obstructed his vision, are poured golden streams 
of cheering light, and while his heart bounds 
with exstacy, he springs forth again to his labors 
and devotes himself with renewed ardor to his 
chosen purpose. 

Such is the influence of hope on the useful- 
ness of man. Perhaps it were superfluous to 
attempt to show its influence on his happiness 
as unconnected with his usefulness; since*, if 
true happiness lies in the strict performance of 
duty, and duty requires man to be useful; con- 
sequently, whatever increases his usefulness, 
proportionally increases his happiness. 



CHARLES POND. 119 

But when we consider the nature of hope as 
being in itself one of the most delightful of all 
emotions; and when we observe its effect on 
the mind in raising it from the contemplation of 
the present, with which man is never satisfied, 
and carrying it forward to scenes of enjoyment 
ever fresh, and ever varying, delightful even 
from their novelty; we see it exerting a separate, 
and perhaps stronger influence on his happiness. 

It is hope, that causes the high throbbing of 
the father's heart, while as he bends over his 
sleeping boy, bright visions of his son's future 
greatness, rise to his view. It is hope that darts 
the thrill of joy through the bosom of the lan- 
guishing victim of disease, when in fancy he 
breathes the pure air, and steps forth with the 
firm elasticity of health again. It is hope that 
enters even to the wretched tenant of the dun- 
geon; and amid the thick gloom of his prison 
and the clanking of his chains, he sees the smile 
of his wife and hears the glad shouts of his 
children at the return of their father: borne on 
her wings the wanderer on a foreign shore re- 
visits the beloved land of his nativity, while his 
soul drinks in the joys that flow from the pure 
fountain of domestic tenderness. In short she 



120 MEMOIRS OF 

stands the friend of man at every period of his 
life and under every change of circumstance. 

Spreading her beautiful pictures before his 
youthful eyes, urging him onward to usefulness 
and happiness in advanced life — pointing him 
in age to the world where the christian shall re- 
new his strength and glow again with more 
than youthful ardor. In prosperity, redoubling 
enjoyment; in adversity, smoothing the rugged 
steep, and lighting up the gloomy sky ; in health, 
promising years of continued happiness, and 
softening the pillow of sickness, she compels us 
to feel that with her, even earth with all its 
dreariness can smile; without her, scarce heav- 
en could be happy. 

When he returned home at the close of the 
term in January, 1823, he had not fully conclu- 
ded to dissolve his connexion with college. — 
After much deliberation, however, with the ap- 
probation of his parents, he had his books re- 
moved home, and bid adieu, as it afterwards ap- 
peared, forever, to the scenes of college life. 
At the close of the vacation when the prizes 
were declared, his Tutor, Mr. A. N. Skinner, 
wrote him a letter informing him of the success 
of his theme ; expressing his regret at loosing 



CHARLES POND. 121 

him from his division, and kindly offering him, 
if he felt able to pursue his studies, evory assist- 
ance in his power. To this letter Charles re- 
turned the following reply; from which may be 
learned with what reluctance he adopted the 
resolution of remaining at home, 

Milford, Feb. 4th, 1828. 
DEAR SIR, 

Your kind letter of 31st ult. was indeed wel- 
come. Be assured the necessity which for a 
season separates me from college, cannot be a 
source of deeper regret to you, or any of my 
friends, than to myself. Previously to my en- 
tering college, my habits of life had been very 
secluded. This was owing principally to my 
being deprived of the company of those who 
were engaged in similar pursuits; and perhaps 
in some degree to a natural aversion to society. 
But when I joined college, I found myself as- 
sociated with kindred spirits, and at once my 
feelings were changed. In the company of 
friends, never I trust to be forgotten, and in de- 
vising schemes of future happiness, time flew 
gaily on. I will not say I looked for enjoyment 
too pure and unmingled, nor will my pride suf- 
fer me to confess, that my happiness flowed from 
11 



122 MEMOIRS OF 

thoughtlessness or novelty alone. But soon u a 
change came o'er the nature of my dream," 
for it was indeed a dream. My health began 
to fail — with it went my happiness. For a time 
I sought it in society — for a time in a closer in- 
timacy with my friends— again in the constant 
company of books — again — but it were need- 
less to say how. That some plans were inex- 
pedient I feel — that all were ineffectual, I know. 
As a last resort, home, appeared the most agree- 
able, if not the most sure. Whether in having 
recourse to this I have acted rashly or with wis- 
dom, I doubt not will appear to my friends 
in different lights. So far, its effects have been 
salutary. Generally my spirits have been good ; 
and my health, I believe, upon the whole is im- 
proved. 

My original intention was, to review at my 
leisure my Mathematics, and the languages, so 
as to join the Sophomore class next September. 
To attempt an equal progress with my own class, 
I feared, would not be consistent with that 
" otium cum dignitate" which I believe my health 
requires. Still, the idea of separation was pain- 
ful in the extreme. But my hope is, to obtain 
if possible, a thorough education. That ap- 
pears to me incompatible with the superficial 



CHARLES POND. 123 

course of study I should be compelled to adopt 
in case I continued in it. 

For these reasons, I feel myself under the 
necessity of leaving a class which I respect as 
a body; in which I rank my dearest friends, and 
a Tutor whom I sincerely esteem, and whose 
friendship it will ever be my highest praise to 
merit — my greatest happiness to reciprocate. 
And now permit me, Sir, to beg you to accept 
my warmest — my most heart-felt thanks, for 
that kindness of feeling, and that tenderness and 
delicacy of treatment which you have ever 
manifested towards me; often when I am con- 
strained to acknowledge it was entirely unde- 
served; and to forgive whatever of neglect you 
have ever discovered on my part, springing as 
it did, not I flatter myself from want of percep- 
tion or gratitude, but from that unhappy state 
of feeling produced by real or imaginary indis* 
position, under which I have unfortunately la- 
bored during the greater part of the time of our 
acquaintance. Your invitation to New Haven, 
and promise of assistance, together with your 
excellent advice, as they are but a continuation 
of your former kindness, deserve an equal ex- 
pression of my thanks; and believe me,* whether 
permitted to enjoy your care and guardianship 



124 MEMOIRS OF 

again or not; I shall ever retain a deep sense of 
the obligations imposed by your numerous 
favors, and shall ever hope to remain, as I 
now am, 

Very sincerely, 

Your Friend, 

Charles Pond. 

In a letter to one of his college friends writ- 
ten about the same time, he expresses similar 
sentiments. 

" I have obtained, says he, my Father's con- 
sent, to spend the remainder of my time until 
Commencement, at home, in reviewing my 
Mathematics, and endeavoring to regain my 
health, so as to be able to prosecute my studies 
more satisfactorily, than I fear, in my present 
state of health, I should be able to do. No 
other considerations than those of health and fu- 
ture usefulness, could induce me to leave a 
class in which I rank my most intimate friends, 
and where I have found a warmth of good feel- 
ing, and received manifestations frequent and 
pleasing, of attachment and partiality, which 
leave an impress upon my memory never to be 
effaced." 



CHARLES POND, 125 

Such were the feelings with which he took 

his leave of college, to which he was destined 

to return no more. 



tM MEMOIRS OF 



CHAPTER V. 

Occupations at home— Resolves on a voyage to tlie south— Goes 
to New- York, is disappointed, and returns home— Visits New 
Haven— Bleeds at the lungs— Circumstances of his sickness 
and death— Letter from his Tutor to his parents— Conclu- 
ding remarks. 

For his occupation while at home, Charles 
pursued the course suggested in his letters. A 
few hours each day were devoted to reading 
and study, and the remainder to exercise, in 
walking and riding and to the relaxation affor- 
ded by intercourse with his friends. The same 
desire also to render himself useful, which had 
characterised him while in college, he manifes- 
ted here. There had been for some time pre- 
vious, a very interesting state of religion in 
Milford; and he was invited by the Rev. Mr. 
Pinneo, to assist in conducting the religious 
meetings, of which there were several during 
the week. With this invitation, although his 
modesty would have led him to decline it, a 
sense of duty induced him to comply; and with 
what propriety of thought and manner, and what: 
apparent earnestness and feeling his addresses* 



CHARLES POND. 127 

were made on these occasions, those who heard 
him will not soon forget. As it was feared, 
however, that his efforts were exerting a dele- 
terious influence on his health, he was advised 
by a friend to discontinue them; to whom he 
calmly replied, "Oh, how we reason, we are a- 
fraid if we do this or that, our days ^will be 
shortened. But what difference does it make, 
whether we go sooner or later, if we are only 
found in the way of duty." 

About the middle of February, finding that 
his health, instead of improving, was rapidly 
growing worse, he resolved on trying a voyage 
to the South; and accordingly left home for 
New York, where he was to embark under the 
care of an uncle, who commanded a vessel 
from that port. Having been accidentally de- 
tained on the way, he was informed on his ar- 
rival that he had lost his passage, as the vessel 
had sailed a few hours before. On learning 
this he returned immediately home. But he 
afterwards ascertained, that although the vessel 
had left the wharf as he had been informed, 
she had remained for some hours afterwards in 
the offing, and that his uncle was in the city 
during the whole time in which he himself was 



V.2S MEMOIRS OF 

there, although they were not so fortunate as to 
find each other. 

When he reached home, his mother remark- 
ing that " without doubt, it was a kind interposi- 
tion of providence which had prevented him 
from going the voyage, and had returned him: 
safely home," he replied," doubtless it is all for 
the best; but how do you know but that I haw 
come home to die." 

About this time he rode over to New Haven. 
On his return, when he had ascended the hill 
which commands a view of the city, getting 
down from his horse, and turning back, he look- 
ed for a long time upon the scene which had 
now become indescribably dear to him, as the 
scene of his studies, his friendships, and his 
hopes, with a strong presentiment that he should 
never see it again. Unwilling, however, to in- 
crease the anxiety of his parents, he said but 
little respecting his health, employing himself 
very much in the same manner, as before his 
disappointment in relation to his anticipated 
voyage. 

On the evening of the 28th of February, while 
making a call at one of the neighbors', he rais- 
ed a small quantity of blood, which evidently 
came from his lungs. He did not mention the 



CHARLES POND. 129 

circumstance, however, when he returned home; 
but manifested his wonted cheerfulness and so- 
ciability. At the usual hour, he performed the 
duties of family worship, in which it was remar- 
ked that he exhibited peculiar earnestness and 
fervor. A short time after he rose to retire; 
when just as he was leaving the room, he felt 
the warm blood bubbling rapidly into his throat. 
With these most alarming symptoms,and when all 
around were agitated, he appeared most surpris- 
ingly composed and calm. To his sisters, who 
were gathered around him, he said, " You see 
upon what a broken reed you have been lean- 
ing." And until his voice failed, through weak- 
ness he continued to speak cheerfully of his sit- 
uation, saying, " it was all well." On noticing 
the grief of his parents, he said he " was sorry 
to see it; he feared it spoke a rebellious spirit; 
that we must bow submissively to the sovereign 
will of God — that he knew not what he was go- 
ing to do with him, but if he had any more for 
him to do on earth, he would raise him up; but 
if he had done with him, he would be removed, 
and that he wished to have no other will but 
God's." 

When the physician, who had been immedi- 
ately called, arrived, it. was thought advisable 



130 MEMOIRS OF 

to bleed him; and accordingly a large quantity 
of blood was drawn, by which means he was re- 
duced to a state of extreme weakness. His 
friends flattered themselves, that farther bleeding 
at the lungs being thus prevented, he would 
gradually regain his strength, and recover. 
But He who seeth not as man seeth, had otherwise 
determined ; and it as soon became apparent that 
he was sinking to an early grave. He himself 
appeared from the first to anticipate the fatal re- 
sult. When his symptoms appeared more fa- 
vorable, and his friends were disposed to feel 
encouraged, he would say, u I know my disease; 
we may hope for the best, but we must be pre- 
pared for the worst." 

Throughout his sickness, although his suffer- 
ings were often very great, not a murmur or 
complaint ever escaped him. On one occasion, 
when a friend asked if he was not in distress, 
he replied; a it would require the tongue of an 
angel to describe my agony;" and then added, 
"these light afflictions which are but for a mo- 
ment, are working out for me a far more exceed- 
ing and eternal weight of glory." 

Being asked whether he wished to recover, 
he said, he " could wish to live to be a comfort 
to his parents, and to labor for the advancement 



CHARLES POND. 131 

of the cause of Christ; but that God knew what 
was for the best, and if he chose to call him 
away, he was satisfied. That he did not fear 
death, although he felt it to be a solemn thing 
for a sinful creature like him to appear before a 
holy God; but said he, I know that the right- 
eousness of Christ is sufficient for the chief of 
sinners — Oh, what should I do if I had not such 
a Saviour! 

Of his classmates he often spoke in the most 
affectionate manner; evincing the greatest so- 
licitude for their welfare, and expressing the 
hope u that his death would be the means of in- 
ducing them to seek an interest in Christ; re- 
markir^ that if one of them should listen to his 
dying entreaties he should not have lived in 
vain." It was his request that one of their 
number might be with him in his last hours, in 
order to bear to the rest his last farewell, and his 
dying testimony to the excellence of religion, 
" Tell them," said he " that they have my best 
wishes for their prosperity and happiness in the 
world; and though I am not permitted to meet 
them again on earth, my prayer is that I may 
meet them all in heaven." 

The young and old received his dying admo- 
nitions. It was an interesting sight, to see him 



132 MEMOIRS OF 

but a short time before his death, with a primer 
in his hand, explaining in a striking manner to 
some of his aged relatives, how Christ " ex- 
ecuteth the office of a Prophet^ Priest, and 
King." 

He was unwilling to take stimulants of any 
kind, fearing an artificial excitement, and wish- 
ing to have a free and undisturbed enjoyment of 
all his faculties. At times he wished to be left 
entirely alone, that he might " hold communion 
with God, and have one sweet hour of happi- 
ness." 

The day of his death was triumphant beyond 
description. In the morning, as he lay near a 
window, from which he felt the refreshing air, 
raising both hands, he exclaimed, " O, I feel 
fresh and vigorous; I feel as though I could rise 
and soar away, if set free from the body — I long 
to be in heaven." Being asked what made 
heaven appear so desirable, he replied; " the 
eternal — eternal blessedness of the place;" ad- 
ding, H I shall soon be there, with saints and 
angels, and with God." 

He requested his sisters to visit his grave 
every Saturday afternoon, that they might be 
reminded of their mortality, and prepare to 
follow him. 



CHARLES POND. 133 

After he had appeared to be dyings his voice 
was restored; and he solemnly intreated all 
who were about him to love, serve, and trust in 
God; as he could assure them it afforded the 
highest happiness in life, and they could see the 
support it gave in a dying hour. Just before he 
breathed his last, he said " he was free from pain, 
and was filled with joy; that his soul seemed to 
be on the wing, and would soon be wafted 
away." His last words were " happy — happy — 
blessed — blessed." After his speech was gone, 
a friend who was holding his hand asked him 
whether he still felt the presence of the Saviour; 
he pressed her hand — raised towards heaven his 
eyes, which even then beamed with "joy un- 
speakable, and full of glory," — and in a moment 
calmly entered on his rest. 

" His flight lie took — his upward flight 
[f ever soul ascended." — 

He who could witness such a scene — could see 
the soul exhibiting more than its wonted vigor 
when the body was struggling in the grasp of i 
death, and not believe that that soul was immor- 
tal, must be an infidel indeed. He who could 
witness it, and not be convinced that the religion 
which produced a result so glorious, was a re* 



134 MEMOIRS OF 

ality, must certainly be blinded to the light of 
evidence. Well has it been said, 

" The chamber where the good man meets his fate, 
Is privileged beyond the common walks 
Of life :"— 

The day on which he died, was Monday, 
June 9th, 1828. On the Wednesday following, 
his funeral was attended by a numerous con- 
course of relatives and friends. Most of his 
classmates were present to pay him their last 
and sad tribute of affection and respect. The 
remembrance of his genius and his worthy 
prompted many a tear at his untimely fall. Yet 
in view of the closing scene, the voice of rea- 
son said, 

" Weep not for him; in his spring-time he flew 

To that land, where the wings of the soul are unfurled; 

And now, like a star beyond evening's cold dew, 
Looks radiantly down on the tears of this world." 

The following truly consoling expression of 
sympathy,and testimony to the virtues and talents 
of their beloved son, was received by his parents 
soon after his death, from his tutor: 

Yale Colege, June 12th, 1828. 
DEAR SIR AND MADAM, 

I cannot contemplate the afflicting dispensa- 



CHARLES POND. 135 

tion which has deprived you of your beloved 
son, without offering you my sincere sympathies 
in your affliction, and rendering a slight tribute 
of esteem and affection to the worth and mem- 
ory of our dear and lamented friend. We all 
loved him in life — we all mourn him in death. 
We feel that one is gone, who was pre-eminent- 
ly qualified by his attainments and virtues, to 
shed joy and consolation around his path— *to 
be the hope, the solace, and support of his 
friends, and to adorn every station of public or 
private life. And when we consider how much 
he was endeared to you, by the tenderness of 
his filial and fraternal love; to us, by his amia- 
ble manners and benevolent feelings; and how 
much we all expected from him in the cause of 
truth and virtue; — we grieve for the sorrow that 
afflicts your parental hearts, and feel that we 
and society have suffered a great loss. 

But we doubt not you derive heavenly conso- 
lation from that merciful Father, who chasten- 
eth not but for our good. It is His hand that 
hath done this, who seeth not as man seelh, but 
doeth all things in wisdom and mercy. To us 
indeed it is great loss, but to our dear friend 
infinite gain. His intellectual gifts — his pro- 
gress in every excellence and christian virtue— 



136 MEMOIRS OF 

his lingering illness — the failure of his youthful 
hopes of earthly good; were but so many means 
of divine goodness to fix his mind on the true 
object of his being, to purify his nature from ail 
earthly defilements, and prepare him for a high- 
er, holier, happier existence. 

Allow me to say, my dear friends, I have es- 
teemed and loved your son. I have rarely, if 
ever, seen a young man that possessed so ma- 
ny qualities to commend him to my esteem and 
affection. He possessed a mind of uncommon 
maturity; more improved by choice reading and 
reflection than is usual at his age. His under- 
standing was sound and vigorous; but he par- 
ticularly excelled in a nice and delicate percep- 
tion of moral beauty. In the classics, in fine 
writing, in matters of taste and elegant litera- 
ture, he was decidedly the first in his division; 
and was among the first in the mathematics. In 
his literary exercises, and in his intercourse with 
me and his companions, he exhibited originality 
and independence of thought united with the ni- 
cest sense of propriety, and the most respectful 
and delicate regard to the feelings of others. 
There was an accuracy and finish in his attain- 
ments, a modesty and dignity in his manners, a 
warmth and delicacy in his feelings, and a pu- 



CHARLES POND. 137 

rity and elevation in his whole character, which 
placed him high in the respecj; and confidence, 
as well as in the affectionate esteem of his 
companions and instructors. 

You had great reason to be happy that you 
had such a son, and above all, that he remem- 
bered his Creator in the days of his youth. His 
virtues have ripened to maturity earlier than we 
had anticipated, and he has left us sooner than 
our human feelings and short-sighted views 
could have desired; but the God that made him 
has in his wisdom and goodness taken him to 
himself in that world of eternal joy, where sick- 
ness, and sorrow, and disappointment are known 
no more. May the consolations and blessings 
of Heaven be with you, and may the dispensa- 
tions of Providence have their proper effect upon 
us all. 

Sincerely and affectionately yours, 

A. N, Skinner, 



In the Religious Intelligencer of June 14th, 
appeared the following notice of his death, and 
brief sketch of his character. 

Died, at Milford, on the 9th inst. Mr. Charles 
Pond, a member of the Sophomore class in 



138 MEMOIRS OF 

Yale College, and the only son of Charles H. 
Pond, Esq. aged 13. 

We are seldom called to mourn over the 
grave of a young man more universally belov- 
ed and lamented. His literary companions who 
have admired and loved him for the uncommon 
maturity and classical elegance of hrs mind; the 
warmth, tenderness* and delicacy of his feelings; 
for the ardor and purity of his piety; and the 
singular elevation of his whole character; feel 
that they have lost their model, their friend and 
brother. He loved excellence for its own sake 
and he attained it. Those who have known 
him as we have known him, will feel that it is 
no unmeaning panegyric, that his class have 
lost one who was first in their affections and 
respect; his bereaved family the best of sons 
and brothers, and society one that eminently 
promised to be a blessing and ornament, in 
whatever circle he might have moved. He 
was happy in life — happy in death — and, we 
confidently trust, is happy in the reward of a 
blessed immortality. 

Here must conclude the brief history of the 
lamented Pond. We might proceed to give an 
abstract of his character; but the modesty of 
his deme&nor ; the purity of his feelings, the svi- 



CHARLES POND. I3S 

periority of his genius, and the ardor of his piety ? 
have already been fully exhibited in his own 
writings and the testimony of others; and it is 
not necessary. And although his bereaved 
friends must realize the touching sentiment of 
the poet, 

The tear through many a long day wept, 

Through a life by his loss all shaded, 
And the sad remembrance fondly kept, 

When all other griefs are faded; 

yet they will derive the highest satisfaction from 
the reflection, that though cut down in the bloom 
of youth, he had already ripened for a better 
world; and from the hope that others, by the 
contemplation of his character, may be led to 
see and appreciate the loveliness of moral ex- 
cellence, and to act under the influence of the 
sentiment on which he often dwelt, " that the 
highest sources of happiness, are accessible on- 
ly to the learned and the good." 



140 TRIBUTARY VERSES. 

TRIBUTARY VERSES. 

Beloved Pond! thy memory claims a tear,. 

Untimely fallen in thy bright career ; 

Death's seal impressed upon thy manly brow, 

Thy head on its cold pillow resteth now: 

Nor youth nor genius could avert the blow 

Thy hopes which blighted*— laid thy promise low 

In the full bloom of life's just opening morn, 

Possessed of all the graces that adorn; — 

Of what attractions talent can bestow— 

Of what from real worth are wont to flow;— 

Thou wert, while yet thou lingered with us here,. 

The pride — the ornament of every sphere. 

But when, to deadi a lovely victim given, 

Thy rising spirit plumed her wing for heaven;, 

Thy parting lustre, lighted up the gloom 

That gathers darkly o'er the silent tomb; 

Shewed us in virtue's path, which thou hast trod, 

The padi that leads to happiness and God. 

So die bright gem that studs the brow of night;— 

Awhile it glows with pure and steady light, 

The sudden falling, gleams along the skies, 

And shines with brightest lustre, as it dies. 

Then rest thee now in peace — the hallowed spot 
Where sleeps thy dust, shall never be forgot ; 
Oft, aye, full oft, affection's tears shall lave 
The flowers that bloom upon thy lowly grave. 
But while thy memory, thus we long shall love,, 
Thy spirit, entered on its rest above, 
Shall chant the song the ransomed only know, 
Beside the stream where heavenly waters flow. 

FINIS. 



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